


Time to Dance

by RedOrchid



Category: Bandom, So You Think You Can Dance RPF
Genre: Adam Shankman is a total sweetheart, Behind the Scenes, Crossover, M/M, So You Think You Can Cross Your Favourite Fandom with Your Favourite Reality Show?, Too Gay for Fox, sytycd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-06
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedOrchid/pseuds/RedOrchid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A So You Think You Can Dance AU.<br/>(Or, the one where everyone is a dancer, much secret sexing goes on behind the scenes, people have inappropriate crushes, True Love is found and Ryan Ross sleeps with pretty much everybody.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Auditions

**Author's Note:**

> AU/fusion, meaning that a lot of SYTYCD RPF characters appear as minor characters. If you feel this is potentially confusing, I’ve made a [primer](http://redorchids.livejournal.com/126773.html) to hopefully help you out a bit. (Pay special attention to [this clip](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YbEtfJryXA) as it’s a) one of the best routines ever done on SYTYCD and b) featured pretty heavily in the fic. :))
> 
> Big thanks to my lovely beta, who’s been pure awesome, as well as behindthec and intricate_life who helped me brainstorm this baby in the first place. And to salire who bet me I couldn’t keep this below 10K and was right as usual. *smooch*

   

Standing for hours on a street corner in early morning January weather is really freaking cold. It’s the morning of the New York auditions for _So You Think You Can Dance_ , and next to the long line of people waiting alongside Brendon, cars are rushing by, every now and then splashing sleet and water on an unlucky person. Brendon pulls his jacket closer around himself for what feels like the millionth time and checks his watch, wishing 8 AM would arrive faster.

When the camera crew finally arrives, the change starts at the front of the line, flowing through it like a wave of energy; in seconds, people are on their feet, jumping and smiling, showing off their best tricks and generally looking like spending the night on a frozen sidewalk is the best thing they’ve ever done. Brendon tries to think of something good to do for when the cameras reach him—something original, something people will remember him by. Before he has the chance to come up with anything, the cameras are there, techs shouting to them to _amp it up, people! Show you deserve to be here!_. Brendon does a triple turn and, before he can stop himself, a really embarrassingly silly face right up close to one of the lenses. It takes him half a second to realise what he’s done and then promptly wishing he could sink through the ground. He’s eighteen years old (nineteen in a couple of months), on his own in New York trying to make it as a professional dancer and barely doing well enough to keep himself off the streets some months. 

Basically, he’s desperate for anything that could give him a professional break. And he just poked out his tongue to the camera crew of _So You Think You Can Dance_ and _shook his face while pulling at his ears_.

Brendon really hopes that the couple of bleached-blonde girls pulling off most of their clothes a few yards behind him will be enough of a distraction for _that_ not to end up on national TV.

***

Inside the theatre, everything is crowded and chaotic. Brendon is shuffled through a line to register and get a number, another to fill out a shitload of legal forms and a third to get his picture taken, before he’s left to find an empty corner to change and warm up. 

He waits for what feels like ages, doing his best to keep his nervousness at bay by going over his routine in his head. He can see the show’s host a bit further away, talking to a girl who’s wearing a very small, neon pink bikini. Brendon looks down at his t-shirt and shorts and wonders if he should take them off, if dancing in just his boxers would increase his chances.

“3342, Brendon Urie!”

Brendon quickly gets to his feet, straightening his shirt self-consciously, and hurries over to the other side of the room. The woman who called his name makes a note on her clipboard and sends him through a door, and Brendon finds himself in a small screening room, cameras pointing at him from every direction.

Here goes nothing.

“Please step to the centre of the floor,” a man says. Brendon does, trying to keep his hands from moving too much as he walks to stand in front of a panel of judges.

There are four of them, none that Brendon recognises, all looking at him in a way that makes Brendon feel very exposed. He’s suddenly fiercely glad he kept his clothes on; the way two of the judges are letting their eyes wander up and down his body is downright disturbing.

“Hi.” He tries to keep his smile in check, knowing that when he’s nervous, it tends to go too wide and too manic and all over his face. The judges smile back. Brendon has a vivid flashback of the sharks in _Finding Nemo_.

“So, Brendon,” one of the judges says while another starts making notes beside him, “tell us about yourself.”

“Um. Well.”

“How long have you been dancing?”

“Fourteen years. Almost fifteen.”

“What’s your style of dance?”

“Contemporary,” Brendon says, pressing the nervousness down. He can do this. “But I’ve done a little bit of everything. Jazz. Tap. I did hip hop for a while as well.”

“Ever done ballroom?”

“Some,” Brendon says, which is technically not a lie if you take ‘some’ to mean ‘once at my cousin’s wedding’. “Mainly the smooth dances. Not so much Latin.”

The judges nod and write more things on the sheets of paper in front of them. Brendon does his best to keep smiling.

“What’s your relationship status?”

“I'm single,” Brendon says, hoping it won’t count against him. “Not that I wouldn’t want—I mean, I’m just focusing on my dancing right now.”

“Okay. Past relationships?”

Brendon shifts uncomfortably, because there’s being fresh and innocent and then there’s being the loser virgin, and he isn’t sure how he ought to play this one. “Not really.”

The judge on the far right shares a look with the man next to her and then leans forward, reminding Brendon forcibly of one of his aunts. “See, the reason we ask you these questions, Brendon, is that Fox Network has a responsibility to the viewing demographic of its shows. _So You Think You Can Dance_ is a family show. So, if there’s anything...?”

“Um. I don’t—Sorry?”

For some reason, stumbling on his answer seems to be the right one, because all four judges smile at him indulgently. Brendon feels increasingly uncomfortable.

“What’s your sob story?” the judge in the middle asks. She’s looking at Brendon with a friendly smile, and her voice is completely casual. Brendon falters. 

“What?”

“Your sob story,” the woman says, enunciating each word carefully. “Things in your current life or past that will make viewers sympathise with you.”

“Um, well, I was hoping that, you know, I could—with my dancing—”

“Listen, Brendon,” the woman says. “We are auditioning more than ten thousand dancers for this season. Most of them are contemporary dancers, many of them are just as good-looking as you. People want to see drama. So give us something. Let’s start with your family, shall we?”

“What about them?”

“Do you get along? Are they dead? Any disabled brothers or sisters that you feel that you’re dancing for?”

“What? No! They’re fine. No one’s dead. What kind of a question is that?”

“U-huh,” the woman says. “Do you live with them?”

“They’re in Vegas.”

“And you live here. By yourself?”

“Yes.”

“See, now we’re getting somewhere. So you’re... eighteen. Why do you live on your own on the opposite end of the country from your parents?”

“I want to make it as a dancer.”

“And do they support you in that? Financially?”

“No, but—”

“Did you run away from home?”

“No! Like, I didn’t leave in the middle of the night or anything. My dad even drove me to the Greyhound station. They love me, they just—Look, they wanted me to go to college, okay? I mean, what parents wouldn’t—”

“What college? Las Vegas? Were they upset you wanted to leave home?”

“BYU. And they were fine with me moving out. Said they’d arrange housing for me and everything, I—”

“Do you share your family’s religious beliefs?”

“What? How’s that—”

“If they wanted you to go to BYU, I’m assuming they’re Mormon. How’s that working out for you?”

“I'm sorry, but that’s really none of your business.”

“Okay,” the woman says, giving him a smile that Brendon supposes is meant to be reassuring, “so to sum up, you left home against your family’s wishes, sacrificing the things you’ve known and loved all your life, as well as financial security and a chance at a university diploma, to go to New York, on your own, living off nothing but your talent because of your burning love for dance. Good. Now let’s see your solo.”

Before Brendon has a chance to protest, to explain to them that, no, that’s _not_ what he said, the music for his solo is starting up, and he has a blind flash of panic before his body decides to override his brain and move into the first figure. He can feel his legs trembling as he prepares the first turn, almost falls out of it before he can correct his balance, and his landings are shaky through the first two jumps. He takes a moment in between two turns to swallow hard, focusing on the music, and the next part goes more smoothly, transition from an arabesque into a triple turn flowing easily and giving him the momentum he needs to make the sweep into the floor work he’s been practising for more than a week. After that, it’s all instinct, Brendon’s body shaping itself to the music like it has a million times, letting the music flow through him and clean everything out.

He gets up slowly once he’s finished, concentrating on how to breathe and steeling himself for the judges’ comments. The beginning of his solo was poor, and he knows he fucked up the grand-jetté in the middle, not getting enough elevation to make the line perfectly straight. Now that he thinks back on it, he probably screwed up the floor work too, and the plié before his chassé combination could definitely have been lower, and—

Fucked. He is so fucked.

“Brendon.”

Brendon looks up, meeting the judges’ eyes. All four of them are smiling.

“Welcome to the show.”

***

“Numbers 2350 to 4185, please follow me!”

Brendon has been waiting for hours. He knew he would; since moving to New York, he’s learnt that auditions are frequently long and boring, and when they aren’t, it usually doesn’t mean good things for Brendon’s chances of scoring a job.

He’s ushered into a theatre along with about fifty other people. Second cut. Brendon tries not to be too obvious about checking out his competition, wondering which ones are there because they’re great, and which ones are because they’re so spectacularly not-great that they make for good reality TV.

He finds a seat in the middle of the theatre, almost at the end of a row. There’s a Latin ballroom couple to his right, talking rapidly in what Brendon thinks is Russian, so he turns to the guy to his left, figuring that he might as well be friendly.

“Hi, I’m Brendon.”

The guy looks up. He’s wearing a newsboy cap low over his face, and what is still visible is covered by elaborate make-up. His eyes are light brown, meeting Brendon’s with surprise and amusement. The over-all effect is pretty devastating.

“Have you been at one of these auditions before?” Brendon says, adding a smile in the hopes of making a good impression. “What style do you do? I’m doing contemporary. It’s my first time here so I’m kind of nervous. Do you think Nigel will be really mean if I screw up my solo?”

The guy raises an eyebrow, looking like he’s suppressing a laugh. He doesn’t reply, however, and Brendon feels himself flush and quickly turns his attention back to the stage, sinking down in his seat to make himself as invisible as possible.

He’s saved from further embarrassment by the arrival of the judges and the whirlwind of activity that follows. Dancer after dancer is called up on stage, lauded, critiqued or humiliated depending on their performance and sent back down. After twenty minutes, three contemporary dancers in his group have been given a ticket to Vegas; it makes Brendon increasingly nervous about his own chances. 

“2864, Ryan Ross,” Nigel calls.

Brendon pulls himself out of his thoughts and nearly claps his hands in excitement. He knows that name; it’s been all over the modern dance scene for the past couple of years, and though he hasn’t had the opportunity to see Ross perform in a show yet, he’s heard a lot of good things. Like Ross being a Juilliard graduate who’s worked both on Broadway and for some of the more exclusive and artistic modern companies, for example. Brendon can’t wait to see him dance.

He turns back to the guy next to him on instinct, needing to share his excitement with someone, and has already started talking when he realises that the guy is getting to his feet and is heading down the side aisle. Brendon stares in shock as the guy climbs up on stage, a number tag saying ‘2864’ readily visible on his left arm.

Shit.

Ryan dances to _Mad World_ , and from the first couple of steps, he takes Brendon’s breath away. His lines are fantastic—most of the technical aspects are, as far as Brendon can see—but the true beauty of his dancing lies in the quality of movement, in the way Ryan manages to create an illusion of something broken and other-worldly moving around on stage. He’s reminding Brendon of a puppet with its strings cut off, style enhanced by Ryan’s elaborate costume of pinstriped pants, frilled shirt, vest and coat and the clown-inspired makeup that somehow manages to look organic on him. Brendon doesn’t even blink for the whole 90 seconds the music is playing.

Ryan ends his performance with a theatrical bow and smiles widely as the whole theatre (including the judges) give him a standing ovation. Brendon claps with the rest as Ryan receives his ticket to Las Vegas, following him with his eyes and trying to whistle as Ryan makes his way up the aisle. 

Ryan turns his head as he passes Brendon’s row, meeting Brendon’s eyes for a split second and giving him a hint of a smile.

Brendon watches him leave, excitement making his heart beat far too hard and fast, wondering dizzily if this is what love feels like.


	2. Vegas Week

  

Flying into Las Vegas and not having someone from his family waiting for him at the arrival gate is very surreal to Spencer. For the past five years, he and Maja have been travelling all over the US and Europe, slowly climbing the ladder in the Latin ballroom competition scene. They got third place at Blackpool this year, fifth in Helsinki before that. Before leaving Vegas, they were junior US champions two years in a row.

And now they’re here. Back in Las Vegas. On call back for _So You Think You Can Dance_.

Spencer did not see that one coming.

It makes sense, though (as Maja’s been telling him constantly since she downloaded the application forms for them). Spencer’s 25. Latin ballroom is ridiculously expensive, and he and Maja have been working in LA for three years now without hitting it big. Some additional exposure wouldn’t hurt, especially not with rumours floating around that half the pro cast of _Dancing With The Stars_ is going to be changed up for next season.

Maja is a blonde bombshell who, in Spencer’s professional opinion, looks better half-naked than most of the girls they compete against. Spencer might not fit into the Latino lover or the passionate Russian stereotype, but he’s still tall and lean with blue eyes, a six-pack and hips that have scored him hundreds of championship points over the years. In short, they should fit the Fox entertainment mould. After sailing through the first round of auditions and doing a quick scan of their competition on the ballroom front, Spencer isn’t too worried about his chances of making the show.

“You wanna do some warm ups?” Maja asks once they get through the whole hotel-check-in-and-getting-settled process and are heading down to the theatre floor. She leads him to the centre of the waiting area with a meaningful smile towards the other dancers, who are spread out in twos or threes across the floor, wearing their solo outfits and stretching.

Spencer grins and holds out his hand. “Better get started on winning.”

He starts them off with a triple spin, making sure the red fringe of Maja’s outfit captures everyone’s attention, then moves her directly in for an easy dip, low and showy. He brings her close, leading pivots and slides to show off their hip movement, then more turns and combinations for technique, coupled with slow figures for shape and chemistry.

Maja is flawless as always, following the smallest impulses he gives her. They’ve been dancing together for so many years now, she almost feels like an extension of Spencer’s body—knowing what he wants them to do almost before he himself does.

He finishes their display with another low dip, taking the risk to add a small lift at the end. Maja lets herself fall without hesitation, hair brushing the floor as Spencer lowers her onto her back and then pulls her back up to the sound of the whole waiting area applauding.

***

Brendon’s flight is very late coming into Vegas (stupid layover in Denver; stupid fucking _snow storm in March_ ), and once he gets to the hotel hosting the SYTYCD callbacks, everyone else is already in the main theatre performing the first round of solos.

Brendon throws his bag in his room as fast as he can, pulling on his dance clothes and not caring that all his things end up in a giant mess on the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices that there’s a suitcase on one of the beds and a pair of shoes on the floor next to it, probably meaning he has a roommate.

Brendon snags his key card, slams the door behind him and hopes he gets the opportunity to actually meet the other guy before being eliminated from the show as he runs for the elevator.

***

“Nice work, Spence.”

Spencer turns around, still high on adrenaline from scoring a perfect 6/6 judges’ vote up on stage for his and Maja’s solo. He recognises the voice immediately, but it’s not until he finds himself looking into Ryan’s face that he fully believes it.

“Jesus fuck.”

Ryan meets him halfway, crushing into the hug and holding on hard. Spencer hugs him back, light-headed from the dancing and the force of Ryan’s arms. He can tell the moment Ryan shifts his weight and leans in to kiss him, remembering a split second later why that would be a bad idea and turning his head, laughing quietly into Ryan’s ear.

“Behave.”

The look in Ryan’s eyes clearly says _why?_. Spencer rolls his eyes and tilts his head towards the nearest camera crew. 

Ryan gives him an exasperated look but pulls back, giving Spencer a friendly clap on the back. The hand falls to Spencer’s waist after that, lingering carefully out of sight. Ryan’s thumb sneaks beneath the waistline of Spencer’s pants, rubbing a small circle while Ryan makes polite small talk. Spencer knows what it means—same thing as seeing Ryan always tends to mean—and tries to keep his face from showing the excitement that flows through him.

It’s been too long.

“So, Maja,” Ryan says, turning to give her a hug as well. “Looking amazing as usual. What’s new?”

“Gonna kick your ass on national TV,” Maja says, giving Ryan her best smirk. “Mary just gave us a standing ovation, and that Russian couple is crap compared to us. How about you?”

“I’m on with the next group,” Ryan says. “I’m hoping to make Mia cry and Tyce fall in love with me. Actually,” Ryan continues, a smug smile spreading on his face, “fall _more_ in love with me. He was on the panel in New York when I auditioned. I’m pretty sure the bulge in his pocket when I ran into him in the elevator earlier was a giant engagement ring.”

“I’m sure it was,” Spencer says, making sure to put as much sarcasm as possible into it. “Well, good luck with that. Meanwhile, I’m gonna take my _fiancee_ and—”

“No way,” Ryan says, giving them a delighted look. Maja holds up her left hand, waving it proudly in Ryan’s face and showing off the glamourous-yet-tasteful ring on her fourth finger.

“We figured it would make them more likely to keep both of us,” Spencer says. “You know Fox and their conservative bullshit.”

“It’s awesome,” Ryan says, taking Maja’s hand and looking at the ring more closely. “I wish I’d thought of it myself. Hey, one of my ex-girlfriends is auditioning. You think I should offer—”

“Don’t you dare,” Spencer says, taking advantage of the way Maja is standing between them to slide his hand across the top of Ryan’s thigh. “This is our strategy. You’re gonna have to rely on your sensitive emo bullshit and get all the fourteen year-olds to vote for you.”

“Yeah, well,” Ryan says, reaching down and pushing Spencer’s hand a little to the right (a little _closer_ , fuck), “better the teens than their moms. Hey, I think I know that guy.”

“What guy?” Spencer says, turning towards the stage as a nervous-looking guy barely out of high school climbs up to face the judges.

“He was in New York,” Ryan says, lowering his voice as the music starts up. “Really awkward but kind of cute, I—wow, that’s pretty... _holy fuck_.”

Spencer can do nothing but nod in agreement as the guy launches himself into his routine in front of them. It’s a little rough in places, Spencer can see that much, but it’s beautiful and _real_ in a way Spencer isn’t used to seeing. He feels like the boy is pulling him in, needing something only Spencer can give, and wanting it with so much conviction and passion that Spencer loses his breath for a moment.

“I need to fuck him,” Ryan says, low in his throat, like he’s having problems getting his voice to work. “Jesus Christ, Spence.” 

Spencer feels a sting of jealousy and pushes it away, scoffing at himself. He hasn’t been jealous over Ryan since high school; regressing to that stage and turning back into his sixteen-year-old self feels completely ridiculous. He lets his hand on Ryan’s thigh slip another inch to the right, all the same.

“How about you do that later?”

Ryan turns his head away from the boy wonder on stage and meets Spencer’s eyes. Spencer moves his hand carefully, loving the way Ryan’s eyes grow darker and he has to concentrate to keep his face unaffected.

“You two sharing a room?”

“Not anymore,” Maja says, giving Spencer a look that clearly says _Jesus Christ, keep it in your pants_. “I’ve known the two of you long enough to know I’m getting the hell out of there. Ross, gimme your key.”

“It’s in my bag,” Ryan says, eyes falling shut for a moment as Spencer curls his fingers and squeezes. “I’ll switch with you after the—fuck, Spence stop doing that, I’m about to go on stage.”

“You know you like it,” Spencer says, letting his hand drop and thoroughly enjoying the almost pained sound that breaks from Ryan’s throat. “Besides, you always dance better when you’re on edge. I’m doing you a favour.”

Ryan chokes on a laugh.

“Fuck you,” he says amiably, moving away from Spencer and Maja and heading back towards his own row. “Later, guys.”

Spencer watches him go and then pulls Maja with him towards their own seats. Up on stage, Ryan’s hypothetical conquest (which is going to be an exceedingly improbable conquest if Spencer has any say; he hasn’t got laid in almost a year, Ryan totally owes him) is receiving praise from the judges. He looks completely stunned by their reactions, blushing and tearing up and, _damn_ , displaying just the kind of I-grew-up-on-a-farm-and-know-nothing-of-the-world innocence that’ll make sure they’ll pick him for the top ten.

Spencer sits down, reminding himself that no matter the number of contemporary dancers, they’ll still need a ballroom guy. He takes Maja’s hand and weaves their fingers together. The two of them will definitely get there.

***

Brendon doesn’t come back to his room until after midnight. He screwed up the ballroom round and had to dance for his life, and even though he got through, he feels like his brain is about to break down, not to mention that his entire body is aching.

He puts the key card in the lock. The room is dark and there’s a lump on the other bed, breathing softly. Brendon can’t see much more than a blond top of head, but the other guy is clearly sleeping, so he does his best to get undressed and brush his teeth as quietly as he can before pushing down the covers and getting into bed.

When he wakes up the next morning, a girl is sitting on the other bed, wearing nothing but a see-through singlet and matching boxer shorts. Which are red. With lace. And also completely see-through. Brendon yelps and pulls the blankets back over his head.

“Oh, sorry,” the girl says, speaking with a trace of a lilting accent Brendon can’t identify. “I just figured, most guys here are gay, so. Hang on, I think there’s a bathrobe somewhere...”

Brendon hears shuffling and some muted swearing before there’s a thud of the girl sitting back down on the bed.

“There, all decent,” she says, laughter in her voice. Brendon lowers the blanket and does his best to not have his face blush so much it actually catches on fire. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m so used to—I usually stay with Spence, so I don’t wear a lot of clothes.”

“Um,” Brendon manages, sitting up in bed with the blankets still pulled protectively around his body. “Who are you, exactly?”

“Maja Ivarsson,” The girl says, holding out a hand for Brendon to shake. “Latin ballroom. I—um, your roommate is my fiance’s best friend. They haven’t seen each other in ages, so I said I’d switch to let them have a bit of time to themselves. I hope you don’t mind?”

Brendon nods and feels pretty foolish.

“It’s fine,” he says, managing a smile and taking Maja’s hand. “I was just surprised, thinking you’d be a guy and all. I’m Brendon, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” Maja says. “Hey, I saw you dance yesterday. Really impressive.”

“Um, thanks?” Brendon says, feeling the blush on his face grow even hotter.

“Wow, you are cute,” Maja says, sounding positively delighted. “Ryan’s not gonna know what hit him.”

“Sorry?”

“Ryan Ross,” Maja says, like it explains everything. “My fiance’s friend. He was basically drooling all over your performance yesterday. Once he and Spence have finished catching up,” she says the last couple of words like they’re supposed to have quotation marks around them, “he’s gonna be _all over_ you.”

Brendon does his best to try and keep up. It’s not easy. Especially not when things like ‘Ryan Ross’ and ‘all over you’ are thrown together. He reaches for his phone, wanting to check the time and make sure he’s not in some kind of strange dream.

“Hey, you wanna hit the gym before breakfast?” Maja asks. “I’d kill for ten minutes in the jacuzzi; my legs are killing me.”

“Sure,” Brendon says, because, hey, it’s not like his morning can get much weirder.

Maja smiles and shuffles through her bag for her bathing suit, throwing a belated ‘sorry!’ over her shoulder when she forgets Brendon’s in the room (again) and he gets a full view of one of her breasts.

This time, Brendon manages a laugh, pushing the blankets aside and starting searching through his own bag. He pulls out his own swimsuit and—in a fit of daring—turns around, wiggling his ass as he pulls it on.

“You are totally gay,” Maja observes, laughing delightedly, and, for the first time, the word doesn’t make Brendon feel like icy panic is going right through him. He breathes out, slowly and carefully, and does another shimmy. Maja laughs, grabbing his towel from Brendon’s bag and throwing it at his face. “Come on, jacuzzi. Now.”

Brendon hurries to find his shoes.

***

Maja waves Ryan and Spencer over to their table at breakfast, and Brendon spends ten minutes being a little starstruck and thinking of something interesting to say, before he realises that the two of them are half-asleep at the table, heads resting heavily on each other’s shoulders.

“You guys sleep well?” Maja says, leaning over to Spencer and whispering something into his ear.

Spencer smiles widely and moves a hand up to ruffle her hair, “Really well. I owe you one.”

“I like diamonds,” Maja says seriously, pressing a kiss to Spencer’s temple. Ryan chokes on his yoghurt and almost manages to snort it out his nose. Then he looks up and seems to properly notice Brendon for the first time.

“Hey, I know you.”

“You do?” Brendon says, pulse speeding up a bit, because Ryan Ross is smiling at him, and even exhausted and with his hair in a mess, he looks pretty damn good doing it. “I mean, I know you though. You were in _Wicked_ last fall.”

“I was,” Ryan agrees. “Did you like it?”

“I didn’t get to see it,” Brendon says, failing to mention that he went past the theatre every night for a month, wishing he had the money to buy a ticket. “I heard it was good, though.”

Spencer leans closer to Ryan and murmurs something too low for Brendon to hear. Whatever it is, it makes Ryan look both annoyed and embarrassed. Maja looks between the three of them, and Brendon thinks he sees her hiding a laugh behind her cup of tea before putting it down and pulling both Spencer and Brendon to their feet.

“Contemporary’s next,” she says, getting her hands on Ryan as well and manhandling the three of them in the direction of the theatre. “Let’s go warm up.”

***

Spencer had forgotten how utterly exhausting contemporary was until they got to their class with Mia Michaels. She pushes them past their limits and then twice that distance again, always demanding more. Spencer is dead on his feet after half an hour. 

The fact that his thighs are still sore from fucking Ryan in every position they could think of for most of the night doesn’t exactly help matters.

Two rows in front of him, Ryan is executing a perfect developé—no sign of fatigue or soreness—moving like his body was made for what Mia wants it to do, no matter how unnatural.

Spencer can’t help but hate him a little bit.

He glances to the right, checking how Maja is doing, which luckily seems to be pretty okay. The Brendon kid is next to her, his face a picture of concentration as he moves with the music. He looks amazing, like he’s fallen away from all the rest of them and is dancing on his own, lost in his body. Spencer glances at the judges’ table and sees at least three of them sitting with their chins in their hands, looking in Brendon’s direction.

Brendon arches his back, letting his head fall back in a perfect half-circle and into the rolling movement Spencer’s tried to get right for the past ten minutes and still has no idea how to actually do. It looks easy. Beautifully easy.

Spencer closes his eyes and tells himself to try harder.

***

The rest of Brendon’s time in Vegas passes in a blur. They dance non-stop, eat when they can and get barely any sleep. Day two is the worst, ending with the traditional group assignment from hell where they’re supposed to create amazing choreography in essentially no time in groups they’ve never worked in before.

Brendon ends up with a tapper, two hip-hop girls and a flamenco dancer, having to do a dance to a song by Destiny’s Child. The only good thing he can say about it is that they’re all too exhausted to fight, so choreographing goes quickly, if not very well.

The judges say the performance lacks originality (which Brendon takes to mean that it’s boring as hell to watch), and most of his group ends up going home after the round is over. Brendon feels bad for them, but at the same time, he’s so relieved that he made the cut himself that it overshadows everything else.

He manages to take a fifteen minute nap before it’s time for Broadway, after which he stumbles into bed without having dinner but with a big smile on his face. 

When he wakes up, it’s time for final solos, and then they wait. And wait some more, cooped up together in their best outfits with at least five cameras watching. Brendon sits next to Tennessee and Charlotte—best friends who auditioned together and are holding hands tightly—and a married couple he hasn’t had too much chance to talk to so far.

The minutes tick by. A tapper with blue eyes and a lip ring is the first to come back with good news. Following him is a small blonde girl with a pixie haircut and a sixties outfit, then Travis, a big black guy who was awesome to Brendon during the hip-hop round. Then Maja, who goes in and comes back triumphant, throwing her arms around Spencer and kissing him in front of everyone. Spencer laughs and twirls her around, but Brendon can see him growing more and more nervous as more spots are filled, especially when Gabe, who’s all tall and Latino and an amazing salsa dancer, comes back, throwing his hands up over his head and making some kind of weird, multi-fingered sign.

Spencer needn’t have worried, though, because half an hour later, he’s through as well, and so is Ryan, who’s standing in a corner talking to the sixties girl and looking awfully pleased with himself. Brendon stays in his seat and tries to breathe, calculating odds in his head. They’ve been told the show is doing a top 16 this year, which means eight guys and eight girls (unless there’s some twist at the end, which Brendon wouldn’t put past the producers). So far, six guys have made the cut, and only one of them (Ryan) is a contemporary dancer. Brendon starts to hope.

Then Bill Beckett makes the cut. Brendon tells himself that it doesn’t have to mean anything, that Bill is ballet, not contemporary, but the distinction is foggy and Brendon knows it, especially since Bill has worked with two contemporary companies and one that performs only modern ballet. The only guy left besides Brendon is a breaker whiz kid called Ian who’s funny as hell, has an enormous nest of crazy curls on his head and can throw himself through the air in ways that make professional gymnasts look clumsy and uncoordinated. Brendon knows two male hip-hoppers are already through—Travis and Pete—but what Ian does is completely different, and probably far more unique than Brendon can ever hope for his own dancing to be. 

The two of them are called in together. Brendon bites his lip and tells himself that no matter what happens, he won’t cry in front of the judges.

“Brendon, Ian,” Nigel greets them when they walk into the room. “I imagine you’ve figured out that one of you will have the last spot on the program.”

Brendon nods. He doesn’t feel so good.

“You are both very young,” Nigel continues. “And while both of you show incredible talent, we feel that, based on the performances this week, only one of you is ready to move on to the next step. Please remember, however, that this was a very close vote, and that we’d love to see the one who didn’t make it back again here next year.”

Brendon nods again. He looks up at the other judges. Mia Michaels looks near tears. So does Adam Shankman. Mary, on the other hand, looks pretty happy, and Brendon can’t help but think about how badly he botched the samba with her on the first day.

“The person moving on is...” Nigel says, pausing for effect for what feels like forever. Brendon closes his eyes, forces back the burn he can feel growing stronger behind his eyelids. He’ll be okay. He’ll keep dancing, get a second job, try again next year. It’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. It’s spring; his apartment isn’t even be that cold anymore. He can—

“Brendon.”

Brendon’s head snaps up. The next thing he knows, Ian is pulling him in for a congratulatory hug. Brendon hugs him back, not caring that tears are streaming down his face and that he’s totally breaking his promise to himself, because _he made it_. He’s on the show.

It’s the best feeling he’s ever had.


	3. Top 16

     
   

“We’re changing up the format again this year,” Nigel tells them on their first day in Hollywood. “We’re bringing back some all-stars, so you’ll alternate between dancing with them and dancing with a fellow contestant we’ll pair you up with. Bottom three will be the six people with the least amount of votes each week—or five if an uneven number of contestant/all-star couples are nominated. Double eliminations until the top eight, then single eliminations until the top four, which will be the finale.”

Spencer nods and files away the information. It sounds like a good format for him—tailored to show off versatility and good partner work—and since he and Maja are playing the couple angle, it’ll have the additional benefit of not letting the audience get too attached to any “showmances” the producers are hoping to set up.

“Before we get to this, however,” Nigel continues, “we’ll have the usual ‘meet the contestants’ episode. So, with no further ado...” He gestures at the side of the stage, and Spencer feels the excitement in the room mount, wild applause breaking out as twelve familiar people run in, smiling and waving.

“We have season four winner Joshua for hip-hop,” Nigel announces, “Joined by season two’s Ivan and season three b-girl Sarah.”

“Season seven winner Lauren for contemporary! With season two finalist Danny and season five finalist Kayla.”

“Representing broadway and jazz,” Nigel continues, “Season six finalist Eleonore and season seven’s Billy Bell!”

Three seats away, Brendon stands up to applaud, nearly jumping with excitement. Several other people are quick to join him.

“And finally, representing standard ballroom, Latin ballroom, swing dancing and salsa, we have season two winner Benji, season two’s Dimitri, season four’s Chelsie and season five’s Jeanette!”

Spencer stands up with the rest, clapping until his hands hurt. Chelsie Hightower and Dimitri Chaplin—the two former contestants who’ve managed to get the exact things out of the show that he and Maja are hoping for. He can barely believe his luck. 

“This is gonna be so awesome,” Pete whispers next to him, putting an arm around Ashlee and pulling her tightly against his side. Spencer grins and completely agrees with him.

***

First time stepping out on stage is nerve wrecking. It’s the introduction episode, meaning everyone’s dancing their own style, and the pressure is on to be absolutely amazing.

Brendon’s been grouped with Tennessee, Keltie and all-stars Lauren and Kayla for a Mia Michaels contemporary routine, which is—by far—the most difficult piece of choreography Brendon’s ever danced.

They’re all decked out in white skirts that are long, wide and translucent. The piece is about nymphs inside an enchantment, and Brendon’s got flowers in his hair and gold paint on his upper body—the main thing distinguishing him from the other dancers being the absence of breasts. 

Once the music starts, he manages to push his nerves away, barely even hearing the audience cheering them on from ten feet away. He finds his footing, and his body bends to the melody, feeling charged and alive, like Brendon could do anything and everything in this moment.

They get through the synchronised part flawlessly, and Brendon concentrates on the next movement, lifting Keltie high above his head before tumbling down with her into the thick layer of smoke on the stage, both of them assisting Tennessee for the next aerial.

The audience screams and claps when it’s over, and Brendon can’t stop smiling the entire time he’s standing before the judges. The three of them run off the stage hand in hand and hug for what feels like forever as soon as they’re off it. Eventually, Keltie disappears to get changed for her solo, and when Tennessee starts talking about doing the same, Brendon bends down and scoops her up, running with her bridal-style towards the changing rooms.

He nails his solo at the middle of the show as well and feels invincible as he sits down to watch the remaining routines. Z is dancing a shag with Benji that’s lots of fun to watch and ridiculously awesome as far as footwork goes. Then there’s Travis doing a hip-hop solo and Bob tapping like he’s got a complete drum kit stuck under his feet. 

Cat comes back on stage, introducing the ballroom dancers, and Brendon leans back against the pillar he found, preparing to enjoy the show.

The music starts, slow and sultry, and a spotlight is lit on Dimitri, who enters the stage with Maja, guiding her through a sliding lift that reminds Brendon of a tango and putting her down on a small table that’s been placed on stage. There’s a drum roll and a second spotlight is lit, showing the shapes of Gabe and Jeanette, then a third illuminating Spencer and Chelsie as nothing but silhouettes against the back of the stage. The music stays slow, and Brendon’s eyes are drawn to first Gabe and then Spencer, to the way they’re moving their hips in lazy figure eights as they and their partners lean closer together and the guys start unbuttoning their shirts.

There’s an explosion of light, and the audience screams, shouting their approval as the music turns into a fast-paced mambo and all three couples launch into it, changing partners, rueda-style. Chelsie flies through the air in a crazy pretend-your-partner-is-a-cheerleading-baton manoeuvre. Maja goes the same way, quickly followed by Jeanette, and Brendon feels his jaw drop.

Spencer takes centre stage, this time with Maja as his partner, spinning her around at a furious pace, the two of them moving their hips in perfect synchronisation and striking pose after pose to the delight of the audience. He’s wearing black, just like Gabe and Dimitri, and Brendon can see the open shirt cling to his back, almost transparent from the start and more so now that Spencer’s starting to sweat under the brightness of the lights. Some of his hair has broken free from the way it was slicked back, and Brendon watches as Maja notices it too and they execute a sharp and almost perfect break—without any visible communication—and change the next figure into a grinding eight-count where Maja practically climbs Spencer’s body, pulling him down with both hands in his hair for an almost-kiss. The audience goes absolutely wild, and seconds later, they’re back in synch with the others—with Spencer’s hair now mussed up and styled in a way that looks absolutely devastating.

Brendon’s mouth is suddenly very, very dry.

“Enjoying the performance?” someone asks, and Brendon pulls his attention away from the stage just in time to notice Ryan sitting down beside him. He’s still wearing his makeup and costume from the jazzy Broadway number he did with Vicky-T, Eleonore and Billy, which means his eyes are lined and sooted and he’s wearing nothing but black pants and suspenders.

“You’re barely breathing,” Ryan murmurs. “See something you like?”

Brendon swallows and tries to ignore the way Ryan’s breath ghosts against his neck. “Um. Jeanette?” he says, wanting to hit himself over the head when it comes out sounding like a question.

“Really?” Ryan says, shifting his weight and leaning a bit closer still. “I didn’t think she’d be your type.”

“N-no?” Brendon says, and, fuck, he really needs to get his voice to stop doing that.

“Not even close,” Ryan says, leaning so close now, his lips are almost brushing Brendon’s ear. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Heading to the gym,” Brendon says automatically, since it’s what he does every night when he has the opportunity. “I—um, I have this small thing with my knee so I try to keep it strong. And then, I don’t know. Sleeping, I guess?”

“Sounds like fun,” Ryan says, making it clear that he thinks the exact opposite. “Well, if you change your mind...”

“Sure,” Brendon says, confused, feeling like he missed something important as he watches Ryan get up and walk away. He does his best to shake the feeling and turns his head back towards the stage instead. The number is ending, each couple performing a last, death-defying lift. Brendon’s breath catches in his throat as Spencer, who’s ended up with Chelsie again, strikes a final pose, holding Chelsie’s hips firmly with one hand as he pushes one of her legs up against his shoulder with the other.

Brendon feels heat build in his stomach, surging up quickly the longer he keeps watching. His eyes track the movement of Spencer’s hips as the dancers go to stand in front of the judges, and he only snaps out of it when he hears Maja’s laughing voice saying something about the routine through the speakers.

_Oh, God._

He jumps to his feet, trying to ignore the way his hands are close to trembling, and gets the hell out of there. He locks himself in a bathroom, splashing cold water on his face and tries to put himself together.

He leans his forehead against the cool surface of the mirror and closes his eyes, laughing softly at himself, because _of course_ he had to go get a crush on one of the only straight guys in the competition—one who, on top of it all, is happily engaged to a girl that’s quickly becoming one of Brendon’s favourite people on the show.

Of fucking course.

***

“Okay,” the camera guy—Jon, no H, no shoes on his feet—says, pointing at Spencer and then at a spot on the floor. “You stand here. The girl you’ve been paired up with will come through that door and we’ll film your reactions. Happy smiles, lots of hugs and so on. All good on that?”

“Sure,” Spencer says, trying to sound excited and turning his back dutifully to the door at the other end of the dance studio. It’s the morning after the first show, and he’s beyond exhausted. Not only did he stay up too late and celebrate with part of the group, but Ryan was on him as soon as they got back, pulling him into what’s been their room since Ryan cunningly let Gabe bribe him to switch so that Gabe could try and hook up with Bill. (If the bite marks on Gabe’s upper body that took an hour for make up to cover are anything to go by, he succeeded.) Spencer didn’t mind it then, but staying up with Ryan until almost three in the morning definitely has its price.

“So who are you hoping it’ll be?” Jon asks, going behind his camera and adjusting things. “And why? Viewers love the why.”

Spencer is way too tired for this.

“Well, obviously Maja,” he says, which is completely true, if not for the reason they’re telling the viewers. “She’s the best partner I could ever have.”

Jon gestures for the light guy to take a step forward and gives Spencer two thumbs up. “Awesome. And if not her?”

Spencer thinks about it. To be honest, he kind of would like to get Keltie, if for no other reason than that he already knows her pretty well. Then again, before they met in Vegas, he hadn’t seen her for a couple of years, and dancing with Ryan’s ex might be awkward, especially since he and Ryan are sleeping together again.

He’s saved from having to answer when the door opens and Ashlee saunters in. Spencer is relieved; she’s not his first choice, but from what he’s seen of her, she’s sassy, performs well and does very respectably in both contemporary and ballroom. 

They hug and tell the cameras how awesome everything is, playing it up until Jon says he has everything he needs and they are able to leave and have coffee with the rest of the group.

Spencer automatically goes into competition mode as soon as he enters the cafeteria, trying to analyse the pairings that have been put together. Ryan’s got the sixties pixie Elizabeth (or ‘Z’; Spencer rolls his eyes a bit at that) by his side, talking animatedly about something. Ryan already looks taken with her, and she’s quirky enough with her big eyes and pretty angles to match him for style. They should be a good match.

Brendon’s been paired with Tennessee, making them the only couple with the same speciality. They look adorable together, Spencer realises unhappily. He can practically see the audience swoon.

If Spencer would guess who’s been set up as cannon fodder, he’d put his money on Bob and Lindsey (or ‘Lyn-Z’—seriously, what is with the girls’ names in this group?), who’ve got next to no screen time so far (from what Spencer’s sisters are telling him) and Travis and Greta, who just seem mis-matched somehow.

On the other hand, Gabe and Victoria are clearly a couple to beat, and Spencer has a feeling Pete and Keltie could be dangerous as well. Then there’s Maja of course, who got Bill for her partner—not a perfect match, Spencer thinks, but good enough. She’ll make it work.

They’re called on stage, where Cat is waiting with a hat in her hands. Time to get assigned their first routine.

“Good morning,” she says, looking ridiculously perky in high heels and a short, sparkly dress. “For this first week, we’ll be splitting up two couples. And they are...”

She picks a card out of the hat. Spencer crosses his fingers that he and Ashlee won’t be the first ones out.

“...Brendon and Tennessee!”

The cameras creep in closer, and Spencer watches Brendon and Tennessee put on ridiculously sad faces that are somehow annoyingly endearing. The second couple turns out to be Pete and Keltie, and once all four of them have been paired up with all-stars, Cat picks up another hat, offering it to Ashlee.

“Smooth Waltz,” Ashlee reads, showing the card to Spencer with a small smile on her face.

Spencer resists the impulse to do a fist-pump on national TV.

***

Discovery of his very unfortunate crush aside, Brendon has a fantastic first week in the competition. He’s paired up with Billy Bell for a Bollywood routine, which is, in Brendon’s book, so many kinds of awesome all at once that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Bollywood is _fun_ , and so is Billy, especially once Brendon gets over his hero worship a little and manages not to be a total spaz around him. 

“Higher!” Billy calls, jumping up and down like some kind of demented spring as Brendon tries to follow. “Stretch, stretch, stretch!”

Brendon starts laughing so much he has to stop jumping. Billy stops as well and comes over to give him a disapproving eyebrow, both hands on his hips as Brendon gives him his best pout in return.

“Do I need to get you laid?” Billy asks (because apart from being funny and often sarcastic, Brendon’s discovered that he’s also completely inappropriate and shameless as soon as cameras are turned away). “Get someone to help you stretch your hamstrings a bit?”

“You offering?” Brendon throws back, feeling a surge of joy that he can just _say_ something like that to another guy here, without anyone thinking he’s a sick freak who needs help.

“I guess I could ask Robert if he’d be up for a threesome,” Billy says, and for minute there, Brendon isn’t entirely sure he’s kidding. “I’ll have to warn you though, our dungeon really needs a paint job.”

“That’s okay,” Brendon says, walking over to the barre and stretching both his legs out. “Let’s figure out the details after you help me nail that spinny-spinny-dippy thing.”

***

“So, I’m thinking I really want to sleep with Z,” Ryan says, pushing himself up on an elbow and looking down into Spencer’s flustered face.

Spencer weakly grabs for one of the pillows that conveniently ended up on the floor with them and hits Ryan over the head. “Your sense of timing really sucks.”

“And then there’s Brendon,” Ryan continues. “I mean, I’ve been holding off for weeks now, being all respectful and shit. Oh! And I actually talked to Keltie the other day, and she doesn’t seem to hate me anymore. Maybe if I took her out to dinner, she’d—”

“Jesus Christ, shut up,” Spencer groans, dragging the pillow he smacked Ryan with up to smother his face. “New rule: no talk about fucking other people during or within the first five minutes of fucking me. There’s this thing called afterglow. Look it up and then keep fucking quiet while I enjoy it.”

“God, you’re so sensitive,” Ryan complains. “You know, I’m just stating, for the record, that if _my_ best friend needed advice, I’d—” 

Spencer flips him over on his back, pushing Ryan into the carpet and silencing him with a deep kiss that quickly turns wet and breathless.

“You are so predictable,” Ryan murmurs, burying himself closer and shifting them around until Spencer’s resting comfortably between his spread legs. “Seriously, though.”

“Shut up,” Spencer laughs, biting Ryan’s bottom lip and sliding his mouth up to cover it when it curves into a smile. 

***

When Spencer finally comes off the stage after dress rehearsals on Wednesday, he finds Brendon waiting for him with two bottles of water. He hands one to Spencer, who takes it gratefully, gulping half of it down in one go while trying to shrug out of his tails.

“Everyone else has gone to lunch,” Brendon says. “Billy and I were supposed to practice next, but they had some problems with the lights so it’s been pushed forward an hour. You wanna go grab a salad or something?”

“Sure,” Spencer says. Just thinking about food makes his stomach rumble. “Hey, would you be okay with getting burritos instead? I’ve been dying for something spicy, and the way we work out here is worse than pre-season prep, so I figure, you know. If you want?”

“Oh my God, yes,” Brendon says, lighting up. “I’d love to.”

“I know a place,” Spencer says. “Let’s get out of here.”

***

Ending up in a tiny booth with only Spencer for company, wolfing down a stack of burritos put in front of him by a friendly Mexican man, Brendon is genuinely torn between thanking some higher power and cursing it for messing up his life.

“So we’re in Poland, right?” Spencer is saying. “And our passports are gone, and our wallets too—basically everything except the clothes on our backs, which are, you know, 95% made out of sequins—and Maja’s yelling at some guy in German, and—”

Brendon listens and nods, stuffing another burrito into his mouth and trying not to stare too obviously at Spencer’s hands when they move. Maybe Billy is right and he needs to get over himself and hook up with someone. With the amount of openly gay guys working on or around the production, Brendon realises he probably _could_.

It’s a dizzying thought. Pretty scary as well, the way everyone but him seems completely open and at ease with whatever sexuality they identify with. And then there’s Brendon. Nineteen, inexperienced and still mostly in the closet. He hasn’t even told his parents yet.

“Hey, Spence, can I ask you something?”

Spencer breaks off the story he’s telling and looks up at him, curious. “Sure.”

 _Would you go out on a date with me?_ Right, no. He wishes.

“It’s probably stupid,” Brendon says instead. “Just, when we were in Vegas, Maja said something about Ryan, I don’t know, finding me cute or whatever, and I just wanted to check if you, you know, had, um—if he’s said anything, or...?”

Spencer takes a minute to answer, and Brendon quickly pushes down the part of his brain that’s telling him the look on Spencer’s face is disappointed, or maybe even jealous.

“Look, Brendon, don’t take this the wrong way,” Spencer says eventually. “I know Ryan’s... hot. But it’s. Um.”

“You don’t think he’d be interested?” Brendon fills in, feeling both relieved and shot down. So much for plan B.

“Oh, he would be,” Spencer says, a definite bite to his voice. “It’s more of a—”

“A what?” 

“I don’t think you should sleep with him,” Spencer says. “I mean, unless you just want sex. But, like, don’t... expect stuff from him.”

“Like what?” Brendon says, unable to look away as Spencer leans across the table, reaching for both of Brendon’s hands. His eyes are so, so blue, his hands warm and steady, and Brendon wants to lean closer, almost starts doing it before his memory snaps him out of it with a metaphorical swift kick to the nuts.

“Anything at all,” Spencer says seriously, looking at Brendon like he can see right through him. “Ryan’s incredible, but he’s not someone you can tie down. At least not yet.”

“Maybe I don’t—”

“Like I said, it’s your choice,” Spencer says, shrugging. He’s still holding Brendon’s hands. “But if you want more than a fuck and him pretending it never happened, pick someone else.”

 _Like who?_ Brendon almost asks. He manages a nod instead and pulls his hands back.

“Um, I should be going back,” he says. “Hour’s almost up.”

Spencer nods, still looking pretty uncomfortable. They split the bill and head back to the studio together, Brendon’s heart beating too fast in his chest every step of the way.


	4. Top 12

Spencer’s performance during the first week went very smoothly. The judges tried to play it up even more by marvelling over how Spencer shouldn’t be able to do a waltz since he’s a _Latin_ ballroom dancer (conveniently ignoring that just because Spencer chose to go pro with Latin, it didn’t mean that he hadn’t also competed in standard ballroom for more years than he cared to count). 

The second week, he and Ashlee got split up and Spencer ended up with all-star Kayla for a contemporary piece. It went well too; the two of them had a lot of fun together, and while Spencer will never manage the lines she has, the extra classes he and Maja took in the couple of months between auditions and the start of filming definitely paid off.

Maja keeps doing beautifully, same as Ryan (who is finding himself a fan favourite thanks to his and Z’s constant banter), and Spencer’s predictions about who’s been set up as cannon fodder have come through without any real drama. (He feels sorry for Bob and Lyn-Z though; their Samba choreography for week one was an absolute trainwreck from start to finish.) So, all in all, he’s feeling happy and confident when they gather on stage for week three’s assignments and Cat holds out the hat.

“Krump,” Ashlee reads, visibly paling.

Spencer groans. So much for happy and confident.

***

“Stop whining,” Ryan says. “I got hip-hop too, you know.”

“No,” Spencer says hollowly. “You got a happy little ironic hipster hip-hop number with Ivan—who’s amazing and helps you with everything—and _I_ got _krump_. With a partner who’s used to lyrical hip-hop and almost as lost as me. We’re gonna look ridiculous.”

“At least you’re not alone?” Ryan tries. “I mean, have you seen Pete trying to do the Viennese waltz? Keltie was near tears yesterday. And Bill and Maja got lindy hop, which is one of those dances that almost always ends up in the bottom three for some reason. Oh, and then _Brendon_. Jesus Christ. Chelsie is going to eat him for breakfast. He’s nowhere near pulling that cha-cha off.”

“Thanks for trying to cheer me up,” Spencer says. “But I’m still going to have to go up on stage tomorrow and make a complete ass of myself.”

“I could go on a sex strike?” Ryan suggests. “Help you build some frustration to channel into your dangerous gangsta persona?”

Spencer flips him off and is just about to reply that maybe Ryan could think of a nice way to distract him instead when Brendon bursts into the room without knocking.

“I need help,” he says, breathless and panicked-looking. “I’m fucking up so bad. Seriously, you have to—um, hi, Ryan.”

“Hi,” Ryan says, and Spencer sees him subconsciously sprawl a little more on the bed.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just—” Brendon says, looking embarrassed. “You’re hanging out. I’ll go see if Gabe can—”

“No, it’s fine,” Ryan says quickly. “I mean, Spence’s great, and he and I used to dance at the same studio. We’ll help you figure things out.”

“Really?” Brendon says, giving Ryan a grateful smile. “I’d really appreciate that.”

“No problem,” Ryan says, smiling back in a way that lets Spencer see all the possible ways Ryan imagines Brendon showing his appreciation. It makes something dark in him want to lash out uncontrollably, get in between them and push Ryan back. He carefully turns his head away, pretending to look for his shoes and taking a deep, steadying breath.

Wherever this jealousy-like thing is coming from, Spencer really needs to make it stop.

***

“No, not like that,” Ryan says impatiently after Brendon fails to lead him through a triple spin. “Spence, help me out here.” Brendon tries to hide his embarrassment as Spencer comes closer and takes Brendon’s place, demonstrating the lead and spinning Ryan in three perfect circles.

They’ve been practicing for half an hour and Spencer’s been holding himself mostly separate so far, only stepping in here and there to comment on footwork or show how Brendon should shift his balance through the steps. _Maybe he’s bored_ , Brendon thinks with a pang. Ryan is clearly getting impatient and frustrated with him. Asking them was probably a terrible idea.

“See how he holds himself?” Ryan says, pulling Spencer in and moving the two of them into a closed hold. “See the line of his back? Here, feel this,” he says, taking Brendon’s hand and guiding it slowly down Spencer’s spine. “Feel how much strength goes into the posture?”

Definitely a terrible idea.

Spencer’s spine is really long. He’s only wearing a tight, red tank top, and Brendon can see the muscles move in his back when Spencer shifts the positions of his arms. He lingers for a moment when he reaches the top of Spencer’s track pants—can’t quite make himself move his hand away just yet—and flushes a bright red when Ryan catches him at it and gives him a surprised smile that quickly turns knowing.

“It's about confidence,” Ryan says, shifting Brendon around until he’s got himself pressed up close against Brendon’s back, guiding his steps as Spencer plays the follower. “Grace. Knowing that you could do the steps in your sleep. Adding a little cockiness doesn't hurt either. Latin ballroom is all about sex.”

Brendon can feel heat building in his stomach, the deep, sweet thrill of being crowded by a warm body, at the same time as he has Spencer’s hand in his and his back under his fingers. They move through a couple of steps, and Brendon keeps his eyes firmly on the floor, pretending to be fascinated by his own feet.

“Is it true that you're a virgin?” Ryan breathes, practically in Brendon’s ear, and Brendon would tell him to mind his own fucking business if he wasn't busy keeping himself from turning into putty in Ryan’s arms.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Spencer says, pulling away roughly and taking hold of Ryan’s arm, dragging him with him. “Will you please _stop_ doing that?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Ryan protests, looking like he can’t believe Spencer just did what he did. “We’re teaching. I was just—”

“You’re practically trying to fuck him right here on the floor,” Spencer snaps. “Excuse me for not wanting to help.”

“Um, guys,” Brendon says weakly, taking a step back. “I think I’m gonna...”

“No!” both of them say at the same time, making Brendon stop in his tracks instead of fleeing out the door like he should. Ryan and Spencer share a long and complicated look, and then Ryan sighs, stepping back. Brendon’s never felt more confused or embarrassed in his life.

“Sorry,” Spencer says, reaching for Brendon. “We’ll behave now. Promise.”

The heat in Brendon’s stomach flares again as Spencer takes hold of his hand, and Brendon feels sick to his stomach from guilt as Spencer helps him though the routine, giving great advice and being kindly professional while Brendon is putting most of his focus into resisting staring at him.

“It’s about trust,” Spencer says eventually, once they’ve gone through the whole choreography and are talking about lifts. “If your follower doesn’t trust you completely, it limits their movement, and you’ll spend every second of a routine doing damage control. But when they _do_ trust you...” He gestures for Ryan to join him, asking Brendon to move a few steps back. His eyes meet Ryan’s, and Brendon sees a slow smile playing there. Ryan smiles back and leans his head back in reply, eyes closing. Before Brendon can blink, Ryan is in the air, snaking across Spencer’s back and coming down between his legs. Spencer brings him back up with a single, smooth pull, twisting Ryan at the last minute to drop him back in a dip so low that the back of Ryan’s hair touches the floor.

Ryan’s eyes stay closed the whole time, relinquishing all control of his body to Spencer, and the feeling of want that’s been building in Brendon expands, leaving him dizzy and overwhelmed and painfully, shamefully hard as he watches Spencer bring Ryan back up, pressing their foreheads together and running his hands up to cup Ryan’s face. Instead of the kiss Brendon was suddenly sure was coming, however, Spencer pulls back and turns to Brendon, looking disgustedly pleased with himself.

“See? Piece of cake.”

Brendon nods weakly and does his best to smile.

***

“Spencer, Brendon, Pete—two of you are in the bottom three.”

Spencer looks at Cat and nods, tries to put a smile on his face. They’re the last three guys to be given the results, and since only Bill and Maja have been sent off stage to go prepare their solos so far, the math for their group was pretty simple. Spencer mentally crosses his fingers.

“Spencer, you danced a krump routine with Ashlee...”

Spencer figures now would probably be a good time to take up praying. He and Ashlee did their best, but there was just no getting around the fact that they were two very white, very inexperienced newbies. Not to mention that while Spencer might have the ballroom-patented Casanova persona down, he’s a far way’s away from earning a Lil’C ‘buck’.

“Brendon, you danced a cha-cha routine with all-star Chelsie...”

Yeah, that one wasn’t good either. In all fairness, Brendon did a lot better than most people in their group had expected him to, and Chelsie did a very good job toning down her own performance to try and match him. Still, it looked like a beginner dancing with a pro (which were pretty much Mary’s exact words at judging).

“And finally, Pete, you danced a Viennese waltz with Keltie...”

 _And what a graceless mess that was,_ Spencer thinks uncharitably, nerves starting to get the better of him. The fact that Pete actually dropped Keltie in the middle of a lift didn’t exactly help.

“The people in the bottom three are...” Cat says, taking her time to open the envelope she’s holding and making sure the camera gets some good close ups on all of them. Spencer closes his eyes, telling himself to stay calm.

He almost jumps in shock when he feels something warm knock against his side, then looks down and realises that it’s Brendon’s hand, reaching for his. Spencer grabs it, grateful for something to hang on to, and Brendon squeezes back, shifting his weight so they’re standing a little closer together.

“Spencer and Pete,” Cat announces, giving them both a hug as she sends Brendon down to the group of dancers who are already safe. “Sadly, this also means your partners will be joining you. Ashlee, Keltie, please go backstage and prepare your solos.”

Spencer leaves, telling himself that dancing a solo is nothing he hasn’t done a million times and refusing to think about what SYTYCD statistics say about ballroom solos. He’s still a strong candidate. It’s his first time in the bottom three. He should be safe.

***

When he finds out that Bill is the one going home, the relief is so strong he has to actually sit down and process it for a minute. Maja gives him a long hug before going off to say goodbye to her partner, and Spencer gives himself a mental shake, pastes on a big smile for the cameras and goes to join the group of people hugging Keltie goodbye.


	5. Top 8

Top eight. Brendon’s made it half-way though the competition. When he met everyone else in Vegas—and especially once they picked the top sixteen—he never would have guessed that he would be one of the people still standing after half the race.

There are four guys left (himself, Ryan, Spencer and Gabe) and four girls (Z, Tennessee, Maja and Vicky-T), and Brendon has a feeling that, as tough as the competition has been so far, it’s only going to get worse from here.

They gather onstage after the elimination show as usual (with Brendon still a little shaken by the fact that Pete and Ashlee were just sent home) and line up for the cameras. Cat smiles.

“So you know that things will be changing a bit around here?” she says, holding up two hats ominously. “One dance with a random contestant, one with an all-star. Ryan, you’re up first.”

Ryan walks up to her and pulls a card from the hat. “Paso doble with Spencer!”

Spencer gets to his feet and goes up to join him, and he and Ryan share a triumphant high five. Brendon swallows. Shit. That one will be hard to beat.

Ryan pulls a second card, giving him African jazz with Billy, and Brendon thinks he might be dying a bit inside from envy.

Professional envy, that is. Since he’s totally working on getting over his stupid crush on Spencer and all. Besides, Brendon can hang with Billy whenever he wants. Billy’s even asked him to help repaint his and Robert’s dungeon, so Brendon’d say they’re pretty close.

(He’s pretty sure Billy was kidding about the dungeon, though. 80%. Maybe 75.)

Spencer draws pop-jazz with Ellenore for his second dance. Then Tennessee draws contemporary with Z (which makes Ryan smirk for some reason) and rumba with Dimitri, and Brendon starts fearing he’ll be stuck with something awful, like Russian folk dancing or two-step.

“Brendon, go ahead.”

Brendon walks up to Cat and pulls one of the two remaining cards from the hat.

“Broadway with Vicky-T.”

The relief must be showing on his face, because Victoria is laughing when she comes up to join him. Brendon hugs her hard and then turns to pick his second dance.

Foxtrot with Chelsie.

Fuck.

***

Spencer and Ryan meet up with Artem from season one for their paso doble, who, to make sure testosterone levels are kept at a maximum, has convinced all-star Dimitri to be his assistant.

“This piece is about rivalry,” Artem explains. “You’re competing for the love of the most beautiful woman known to man. To the death, so I want to see some passion and determination here. Jealousy. Lots and lots of jealousy.”

“Oh, I think we can do that,” Ryan says with a smirk. “Spence and I have been falling for the same people since third grade. We have this thing down.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, because that was _twice_ , and the first time, Spencer was mostly pretending to be in love so that he’d get a card for Valentine’s Day.

(The other time was in junior high and got pretty messy. Spencer’s made a point to keep a good distance from anyone Ryan expresses an interest in ever since.)

“You’ve danced a paso before, right?” Artem asks Ryan, who nods. While Ryan’s first love has always been jazz and contemporary, he stuck with ballroom until he got his letter from Julliard, and Spencer knows better than anyone how good he is moving his legs and hips to a rhythm. “Good. Then we can skip the easy stuff.”

“Fine by me,” Spencer says. “How do you want us?”

“Closed position,” Artem replies. “We’ll start with some partner work.”

***

“We should do well this week,” Victoria says, stretching out her legs as they wait for Adam Shankman to arrive and choreograph their broadway number. “My hip-hop with Joshua feels pretty okay.”

“I have foxtrot,” Brendon reminds her. “Last time I had ballroom, I almost ended up in the bottom three.”

“But you didn’t _actually_ end up there and you were safe last week as well,” Vicky-T says. “Come on, Urie, I’m sure you have a Gene Kelly hidden in there somewhere.”

God, Brendon wishes.

Adam Shankman arrives with a cheery “Good morning, dancers!” and kicks off their day by throwing Victoria a long, ruffled skirt.

“Put that on,” Adam says. “It’ll be your main prop for this dance. Spin around for me?”

Their choreography turns out to be set to _That Man of Mine_ from _The Loveboat_ and is surprisingly sweet. Brendon enjoys the way they can relax into it and just flow together, holding hands and rolling around on imaginary grass, the ruffles on Victoria’s skirt creating a makeshift nest around them.

“Brendon, I need more from you,” Adam calls over the music. “Make it even sweeter. I want to you look at her like nothing else matters. And, Vicky, you need to soften your arms. I want you younger and more naive.”

Brendon nods and moves back to the starting position for the part they’re working on, trying to really put himself in the story Adam wants them to tell. Victoria spins towards him and Brendon falls into the same rhythm, keeping his eyes focused on her face as they move together.

“Good,” Adam calls. “Now relax into the lift. Make it look easy.”

Vicky-T meets Brendon’s eyes and smiles, tossing her hair back as he pulls her in close. The movement makes her arch her back a little more than she did before, and Brendon only has to bend his knees slightly to get his left hand where he needs it to be.

They get the timing perfectly right this time, and for the second Victoria is in the air, Brendon feels like they’re both weightless. They execute the steps that come after with wide smiles on their faces, and Brendon lets the joy he feels—just from being where he is, getting to dance like _this_ —burst out and spill over into the way he moves.

“Yes!” Adam shouts, clapping as they move into a second lift. “That’s it, now we’re talking.”

***

The fact that Spencer is probably the most wonderful person alive makes Brendon feel even more guilty for having increasingly inappropriate feelings for him. (Not so guilty that he doesn’t end up begging pitifully for help when Spencer asks him how his foxtrot is coming, however.)

“Here,” Spencer says, changing the hold and taking over the lead. “Sometimes, it helps switching roles. Gives you a feel for what signals your partner is getting and where the biggest risks for misunderstandings are.”

He takes Brendon through the first few steps, right to the first twist and preparation and then stops right before the turn.

“Feel that? That’s the tension you need to get good momentum in the turn. If you don’t give that, Chelsie will have to turn on her own to avoid screwing up choreography, when what she _should_ be doing if she was just following is this.”

He starts leading Brendon around the floor, adding basic steps to throw him off the choreography. Just as Brendon’s starting to relax, the twist comes, and then... nothing, followed—too late—by a small push Brendon isn’t ready for.

Brendon stumbles. Spencer’s hand is there immediately, supporting him as he regains his balance. 

“See what I mean?”

Brendon nods dumbly, straightening himself and trying not to feel the heat coming off Spencer’s body or notice how good he smells. Spencer’s hand is on his arm, warm and steady, and Brendon has to steel himself to step away, repeating the mantra of _straight—engaged—just being nice_ in his head to stop himself from doing something stupid like leaning in to kiss him.

“Hey,” Spencer says, sounding uncertain, “It was just an example. You’re already doing way better than that.”

Brendon steels himself and manages to look up, puts a smile on his face. “I know, just nervous, I guess.”

“Don’t be,” Spencer says. “You’ll do fine. Let’s just dance.”

He walks over to the sound system and re-starts the song Brendon and Chelsie will be dancing to, deliberately slowing down and smoothing out his walk as he goes back towards Brendon. “Ready?”

Brendon can’t say he is, but he smiles and holds out his hand to Spencer all the same.

***

“You’re back late.”

Spencer closes the door behind him and bends down to untie his shoelaces. “Huh?”

“It’s almost 2 AM,” Ryan says. “You haven’t been rehearsing all this time, have you? Because I’m not letting you out-dance me in the paso.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Spencer says, pulling off his shirt and throwing it on an empty chair. “Hey, I’m gonna take a shower. Be right back.”

“Hang on,” Ryan says, yawning as he pushes himself up on the bed. “I’ll join you. We can do that thing I promised earlier.”

“You mean the blowjob you owe me for disappearing with Gabe the other night?” Spencer asks with a small smirk. “I’ll cash it in tomorrow. Go to sleep.”

Ryan suddenly looks a lot more awake. “Did something happen?” he asks, “Oh wow, you hooked up with someone, didn’t you? Tell me. Was it Gabe?” He looks absolutely delighted.

Spencer gives him a look of pure disbelief. “Um. No.”

“Okay, so not Gabe,” Ryan says. “That tech? Jon? I noticed he was flirting with you during interviews last week.”

“He wasn’t flirting, he was friendly,” Spencer says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “And I’m supposed to be engaged to Maja, remember? Hooking up with other people—especially ones who walk around with cameras all day—would be pretty stupid, don’t you think?”

Ryan shrugs. “You’re hooking up with me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re different,” Spencer says. “I know you wouldn’t—” _Out me_ stays unsaid. Spencer knows Ryan doesn’t agree with him choosing to stay in the closet, but at least he mostly understands and respects why Spencer feels the need to.

“Brendon needed help with his foxtrot,” he adds, feeling heavy and tired as he manages to peel himself out of the rest of his clothes. “And now it’s late and I’m beat, so.”

He walks into the small bathroom and climbs into the tub. The water feels heavenly against his back and arms, and Spencer leans his head back, tilting his face into the spray. There’s a sudden waft of cold air, and Ryan is climbing in behind him, reaching past Spencer for the shampoo and lathering up some in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan says, spreading the lather over Spencer’s hair and massaging his scalp with careful fingers. “I know I shouldn’t push.”

Spencer huffs but can’t really make himself stay annoyed with Ryan—not when Ryan’s working his way down to Spencer’s neck and back, kneading the muscles there until Spencer feels like he’s melting into the shower spray.

“Brendon’s pretty awesome,” Ryan says softly. “I like him.”

 _I know,_ Spencer thinks. Ryan’s been telling him—in great detail—about all the things he’d like to do to Brendon since Vegas week. Spencer is honestly surprised that Ryan hasn’t pounced yet.

There’s a feeling attached to that thought—something close to relief—that Spencer tries not to think too much about. Ryan going after Brendon would most likely end in heartbreak, and Spencer admits he feels strangely protective when it comes to Brendon these days. It’s just... he’s so open and trusting. Spencer can’t remember himself ever letting new people close that easily. And if he did and it went wrong, he’d have Maja there to back him up, as well as someone in his family most of the time. Brendon has nobody, and seeing how gorgeous he is, Spencer knows there are a lot of people in the industry who will try to take advantage.

And Brendon deserves better than getting seduced and then dumped because someone like Ryan looks at his (admittedly) perfect ass and gets horny. In addition, Ryan sleeping with people like Brendon never ends well; Ryan is a closeted romantic who can’t stop himself from acting on it, which comes with a really bad habit of making people think he’s in love with them when he’s really just after a quick fuck.

“There,” Ryan says, sliding his hands over Spencer’s back one last time. “Feel better?”

Spencer nods. Truth be told, he feels pretty wonderful.

***

“Next on stage, dancing the paso doble to _The Arrival_ by James Dooley—it’s Spencer and Ryan!”

The stage starts out completely dark. Brendon can see movement from where he’s standing at the side of the stage, but nothing definite until the first flares of light go off. Ryan and Spencer start out on either side of the stage, advancing in slow circles with their matador capes behind them until they’re almost face to face. Brendon holds his breath as Ryan “attacks”, breaking into Spencer’s space and forcing him back. Spencer sweeps to the side, brandishing his cape like Ryan’s a bull he’s fighting, taunting and teasing until he has Ryan by the waist, assisting him into an incredible air-born triple turn.

Ryan lands smooth as a cat (Brendon really envies how supple his knees are) and advances again. Spencer keeps the upper hand through the next segment, ending a furious combinations of twists and turns by throwing Ryan to the floor in a running slide. Ryan gets up on his knees as Spencer moves in close, arching his back and turning his head to “prevent” Spencer from touching him. Spencer stops him with a hand on his jaw, tilting it up and continuing the movement until Ryan is on his feet, staring back at Spencer with absolute defiance. Their faces are only inches apart, and Brendon can practically feel the tension, can picture exactly what it would feel like to be in Ryan’s place. A tiny smile curves the corner of Spencer’s mouth, and Brendon sees Ryan return it before pulling away and starting the battle all over again.

The dance grows dirtier and more intimate, and Brendon wonders how it’s possible for anyone to watch the two of them dance like this and think of anything other than sex. Spencer’s breathing hard now, playing up the adrenaline rush, pulling Ryan in flat against his chest and flipping him back over one arm. Another couple of turns and it’s Ryan who is in control, leading with both hands on Spencer’s shoulders. 

Brendon is finding it very hard to breathe.

The dance moves back and forth, growing in intensity until it’s almost too much. There’s a last flash of lights as the music breaks, and Spencer falls to the floor, tilting his head back in quiet submission while Ryan tangles his fingers firmly in his hair.

 _Jesus Christ_.

Brendon doesn’t stay and watch the judging. He and Vicky-T are due on stage the number after next, and there is just no way Brendon can go out there in his current condition.

They’re broadcasting live, meaning there is no time. Brendon locks himself in the first bathroom he can find, desperation warring with panic as he rips at his costume to get his dick free. He tries to think about Ryan as he starts fisting himself—it feels somehow less incriminating since Brendon knows Ryan’s at least bi—calls up the way Ryan’s body moved through the dance, how dark his eyes were when he pressed his forehead to Spencer’s, how his hands looked as they pushed Spencer backwards, sliding across Spencer’s bare chest down to his abs, to Spencer’s waist, hips, the line of his legs when—

Brendon feels more than hears a desperate sound break from his throat, and seconds later, his mind is flooded with flashes of Spencer’s mouth and hands, of the look in his eyes as he fell to his knees, his bare chest, hips, _legs_ , holy fuckfuck _fuck_.

He bites his lip almost hard enough to draw blood when he comes, grabbing for something to hold on to and feeling like his knees are going to give out. He rests his forehead against the bathroom wall for a few moments, panting for air, and then pushes himself back, reaching for some paper towels. 

He cleans himself up with shaky hands, washing them twice afterwards and wishing he wasn’t wearing makeup so he could splash some of the water on his face. He brings handfuls of it to his mouth instead, taking quick, soothing gulps that manage to cool him down a bit and clear away some of the fogginess in his brain.

He looks up into the mirror and meets his own eyes, lets out a long, shaky breath.

He can still do this.

***

Maja’s the one who has to leave that week. She does it with grace, waving and smiling through her disappointment like the professional she is, while Spencer stands next to the stage and feels his heart break a little.

Since he’s supposed to be her fiance, he gets to say goodbye first, and takes the opportunity to steal a quick kiss and whisper that he’ll miss her.

They’ve spent nine years facing every triumph and disappointment as a team. Spencer always figured it would suck when one of them got kicked off the show, but what he’s feeling now as he hugs her tight is fucking ridiculous. 

Ryan’s next, and Maja gives him a mock-evil glare before hugging him, telling him her elimination is all his fault for being so fabulous. Spencer quietly thinks she probably has a point; one reason Maja was cut instead of Z or Gabe is likely that Spencer and she, for whatever reason, hadn’t managed to achieve the star-couple status they set out to get. And Spencer and Ryan’s paso was, well—Spencer’s seen the tapes. And read some rather disturbingly accurate comments in the SYTYCD forum threads.

Everyone else joins the group hug, and they do the required dance-around-the-stage-being-happy thing for a song or two, bow to the audience and file backstage. Spencer’s still a bit distracted when they assemble again to pull next week’s assignments.

“Disco with Vicky-T.”

Future of sparkly tights aside, things could definitely have been worse. For his second dance, he picks salsa with all-star Jeanette and keeps himself from rolling his eyes at how obvious the producers are being when Ryan, on top of this, ends up picking Z and Kayla as his partners. One week of gay subtext is obviously quite enough (which Spencer doesn’t find especially surprising).

He can’t explain why he kind of feels like punching someone.

***

“You okay?”

Spencer looks up. Brendon’s standing next to him, watching Spencer massacre a napkin and add it to the growing pile of confetti in front of him.

Spencer shrugs and picks the first credible lie that jumps into his head. “I’m just upset Maja’s leaving.”

Brendon makes a sympathetic noise and slides into the seat next to Spencer’s. “She’ll be back though. Like, she’ll get tickets to the shows and stuff.”

“Still not the same.”

“Yeah, I imagine,” Brendon says, giving him a weak smile. He grabs a napkin from Spencer’s pile and starts playing with it, folding it up until it’s just a small square. “Did you guys set a date for the wedding yet?”

“Um,” Spencer says, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. Lying to an anonymous TV audience is one thing; telling a guy he thinks of as someone who’s becoming a really good friend is definitely not the same.

Still. What the fuck else is he gonna say?

“Not yet.”

“You should do it soon,” Brendon says. “Those things take a shitload of time. My eldest sister and her husband planned their wedding for over a year.”

“Sure,” Spencer says and feels like an absolute asshole.

“I’d like to get married by the sea,” Brendon continues. He pulls at the corners of his little folded square, turning it around between his fingers until he has a perfect waterlily resting in his palm. “Up on a cliff or something. Not a beach.” He puts the waterlily in front of Spencer and grabs another napkin, folding it in a different way.

Spencer watches, fascinated, as a swan emerges. He reaches out to touch the tail, curious to know how it hangs together. Brendon lets him touch it for a moment and then blushes, handing the origami over to Spencer with an uncomfortably-sounding laugh.

“I should—”

“Stay,” Spencer says. “That’s really cool. Show me how?”

Brendon smiles and grabs another napkin, folding it slowly so that Spencer has a chance to follow his movements.

“This is nice,” Brendon says. “Me being able to teach you something for once, I mean.”

Spencer meets his eyes and then quickly ducks his head to focus on the bird taking shape in his hands, feeling a hundred times better than just ten minutes ago and thinking that, yeah, it really kind of is.


	6. Top 6

Top seven is a very drama-free week that passes mostly unnoticed. Spencer nails his salsa with Jeanette and keeps himself out of the bottom three, Ryan spends a lot of time with Z being laid-back and ironic (sometimes with Tennessee joining them, which is when Ryan tends to look particularly smug) and Vicky-T gets eliminated due to an unfortunate run-in with the quickstep.

When they gather on stage after the results show, Spencer’s feeling pretty relaxed. 

“For next week, there’s a bit of a twist,” Cat says. “We’re only two weeks from the finale, so we’ve decided to up the tempo. This week, you’ll each be performing three dances instead of two.”

So much for relaxed. Considering they’ll also have a group routine and solos to prepare, Spencer really hopes he won’t be given anything too far out of his element. Like Bollywood—the potential of that one has been looming over his head since the first week; Spencer’s legs just weren’t made for air-born splits with flexed feet.

They get their all-star partners first, which gives Spencer a samba with Chelsie. So far, so good.

“First draw of partners among the six of you,” Cat says. “Tennessee, pick your first partner and dance.”

Tennessee steps up to the hat and pulls a card out of it, opening it slowly.

“Lyrical jazz with Z,” she says, showing the card to the cameras with a small, secret-looking smile. Next to Spencer, Ryan groans quietly in appreciation. Spencer subtly elbows him in the ribs.

Tennessee picks a second card, pulling Argentine tango with Brendon. Following her is Ryan, who pulls hip-hop with Gabe and looks extremely put-out before scoring a West coast swing with Z as well. 

“Spencer, go ahead.”

Spencer quickly weighs his odds, trying to guess what he might be getting. They all know the “random” draws aren’t really random (main tip-off being that Cat’s never had only one hat for them to draw from, but rather one for each of them), and since he’s done a lot of ballroom lately, chances are he’s up for hip-hop or contemporary. 

He takes a card and opens it, reading the words “Viennese waltz” and feeling both surprised and relieved. The he sees whose picture is on the other side.

“Viennese waltz with Brendon?”

***

To say that Brendon is nervous when he walks into the studio for his first rehearsal with Spencer is an understatement. Mostly, he wishes he could click his heels three times and magically transport himself home (or back to the Argentine tango rehearsal with Tennessee, which is actually going _well_ ; Brendon has no idea how that happened).

He’s not even sure how you’d choreograph a Viennese waltz for two guys. Not that he knows a great deal about the dance, but the ones that have been done so far on the show have been incredibly romantic. Brendon has no idea how he’d get through something like that without Spencer catching on to his little problem and Brendon making a complete fool of himself.

“Hi, I’m Jason Gilkinson,” their choreographer says. Brendon recognises him from working with some of the other dancers earlier in the season. “And this is my assistant Charlie, who’s gonna help me do some great work with you guys today.” Jason’s got a nice voice, happy and calm with a strong Australian accent that Brendon, for some reason, finds really soothing. They shake hands.

“So,” Jason says, “story of his piece is two brothers. Older one is teaching the younger how to dance, so you’ll be switching roles a lot. Brendon, I understand you haven’t danced the waltz much?”

“Never,” Brendon admits. “Well, unless you count my cousin’s wedding. But I was seven and standing on my sister’s feet at the time, so no, not really.”

“No problem at all,” Jason says. “It’ll probably end up working well with the story. You’ll be the younger brother, obviously. Spencer, you know pretty much what you’re doing, yeah?”

“Got a few trophies at home that say I do,” Spencer says, grinning. “Been a while, though.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Jason says. “I remember you from youth competitions. You had that I’m-serious-and-grown-up look going on.”

Spencer splutters something, looking embarrassed. It makes Brendon laugh; he can just picture a teenage Spencer, standing up impossibly straight with a too-serious look on his face.

“Let’s get started, shall we,” Jason says, smiling. “Spencer, behind Brendon, please. Frame up.”

Brendon suppresses a shiver as Spencer moves in behind him, guiding Brendon’s arms up to a classic ballroom frame and keeping a light hold of his hands. He leans in a little with his upper body, just enough that Brendon can feel him, and shifts their weight to the right. Brendon follows.

“That’s great, guys,” Jason says. “As a matter of fact, let’s keep exactly that for the start of the routine. Spencer, can you lead a double reverse turn?”

Spencer does, staying warm and steady behind Brendon as they move in two slow circles. It’s easy like this, just a matter for Brendon to keep himself centred and relax into it. They repeat the figure a couple of times until Jason thinks they have it. Brendon feels like he’s floating

“It’s really good, guys,” Jason says, a hint of suppressed laughter in his voice. “Tone down the romance a little bit, though, yeah? I wish we could go with what you’re doing, but we’re not in Australia, so a little less sexy, all right?”

Brendon stiffens, blushing furiously and pulling away as far as he can without breaking formation. Awesome, not ten minutes and he’s already screwing things up.

The next couple of steps are stilted and out of synch. Brendon sees Jason frown and look from Spencer to him and then back again.

“Guys, stop for a second.”

Spencer lets go of Brendon as though he’s been burned, and Brendon prays that it’s because of what Jason said and not because Brendon subconsciously crossed a line and made him uncomfortable.

“Listen,” Jason says, looking apologetic. “I didn’t mean for that to sound like it did. You guys make a great couple, it’s just—you know the deal with this show, yeah?”

Next to Brendon, Spencer nods. There’s something strained about his face, like he’s angry or upset but determined not to show it. Brendon reaches out without thinking, wrapping his hand around Spencer’s in support. Spencer starts and turns his head. Before Brendon can pull his hand away and apologise, however, Spencer’s shoulders relax and his mouth turns into a small smile. 

He tangles his fingers with Brendon’s, squeezing back before letting go.

“It’s fine,” he tells Jason. “We’re good. Let’s move on to the next part.”

He looks at Brendon and holds out his hand, pulling him back against his chest and overlapping Brendon’s arms with his own. Spencer keeps up a running commentary during the next part of the choreography, telling stupid jokes in Brendon’s ear that make him relax and roll his eyes and, occasionally, wanting to hit Spencer over the head for being obnoxious.

Jason loves it.

Spencer gives Brendon a conspiratorial glance as they move into an open segment, mirroring each other’s movement, and Brendon feels his heart leap.

God, he is so, so fucked.

***

“Okay, spill,” Ryan says, throwing himself down on Spencer’s bed and stealing Spencer’s pillow. “You’ve had a stick up your ass about something for days. What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Spencer says, sighing when Ryan gives him an exasperated look. “Really, okay? It’s just, I’m getting really fed up with the homophobic bullshit on this show.”

“Huh,” Ryan says, curling a little closer and moving his head so that Spencer can get some of his pillow back. Spencer appreciates the gesture.

They lie together side by side for a long time.

“I’m sick of it,” Spencer says at last, words breaking from his throat like they’ve been wanting to get out for a long time. “I didn’t know I was, because ballroom’s like it is, you know—everyone acts like there’s no such thing as people being gay, and I’m so used to pretending there that I don’t even think about it anymore. But here, it’s like... it’s different. You’re bi, Brendon’s gay, Gabe’s whatever he is—metrosexual or whatever—Bill’s gay, half the male all-stars are gay or bi and everyone knows, but still, the _minute_ we go on stage, everyone’s back in the closet. It’s just—” 

“Frustrating?” Ryan says. “Yeah. But, I mean, what can you do? It’s a mainstream show. We’ll get some fame here, hopefully some money too, and then we’ll go back to the real dance scene where people are less bigoted. Well, not in ballroom obviously, but—sorry. Hey.”

Spencer turns his head away.

“You could always go into same-sex ballroom,” Ryan jokes. “I hear they have lovely, matching costumes.”

“Very funny.”

“Or you could teach,” Ryan says. “Pasha from season three is teaching same-sex ballroom in LA.”

Yeah, as if. Spencer snorts.

“Your problem,” Ryan says, deceptively light, “is that you _like_ people thinking you’re straight.”

Spencer stiffens. That’s so not— “What?”

“I kind of get it,” Ryan says. “I mean, it’s definitely easier when people do. But you—I mean, you know you’re playing it up. You _like_ being the picture-perfect ballroom guy and all the positive attention you get.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Sure it is,” Ryan says. “Which is why you put a fucking _engagement ring_ on Maja’s finger. I’m not judging you or whatever, I’m just saying.”

“Saying what?” Spencer demands. “That I’m a hypocrite just like everyone producing this show? Thanks a fucking lot.”

He starts pushing himself off the bed, wanting to get out of the room as quickly as possible. Ryan grabs his arm and pulls him back down.

“You’re Spencer,” he says, flipping them over so that Spencer is under him, trapped beneath Ryan’s body. “In the closet or out, that’s pretty awesome.”

Spencer fights to keep his anger going. He wants to lash out, would love to push Ryan away and throw some choice words back in his face. Ryan leans down and presses a tiny kiss against the tip of his nose, and Spencer feels his arms stop struggling and move up to hug Ryan closer instead.

“You’re the worst best friend ever, just so you know.”

“Yeah, well,” Ryan says, smiling against his neck and hugging Spencer back, “I could say the same thing about you.

***

Brendon needs a distraction. Badly. Because he’s pretty sure he’s going out of his mind, and if it continues for much longer, he’s going to end up doing something really stupid like pushing Spencer up against a wall and begging him to break off his engagement and give gay love a chance.

And keep thinking in clichés, apparently, which—while a totally valid lifestyle choice Brendon’s normally not afraid to own—is not optimal when trying to get through a reality TV show.

He needs something to take his mind of Spencer. Getting laid seems like a pretty good start.

He picks Ryan. Partly because he’s hot, but mostly because Brendon’s got the impression from several people that Ryan wouldn’t be too hard to convince. And doesn’t have Gabe’s habit of putting his arm around Brendon in the line at the cafeteria and talk loudly about wanting to introduce him to his friend the Mighty Cobra, which, honestly—Brendon shudders at the thought.

Getting Ryan on his own is surprisingly easy. Spencer goes to bed early after they wrap up the result show that week and get assigned their new partners (Gabe got sent home; Brendon thinks it was a pretty fair decision), and when Ryan says he’s still pretty wired and asks Z and Tenn to head out for a while, Brendon simply tags along.

They end up at a coffee shop, drinking cappuccino and sharing plates of pie. It feels a bit like a double date, except for the part where Brendon isn’t entirely sure who’s supposed to be dating who. He does his best to catch Ryan’s eye across the table, laughing at all his jokes and leaning into his space whenever possible. He realises Ryan’s caught on to what he’s doing when he feels a foot move close to his under the table, wrapping itself coyly around Brendon’s ankle.

Brendon feels anticipation coil hotly in his stomach and smiles brighter.

Z and Tenn leave after they finish their food and drinks, saying they need to get back and get some sleep. Ryan stays, giving Brendon a flirtatious look and sliding into Tennessee’s empty chair once the girls are out the door.

Brendon leans in and kisses him before he has a chance to change his mind.

At first, it’s good—better than good even. Ryan parts his lips eagerly, deepening the kiss and pulling Brendon closer. His hands come up to cup the back of Brendon’s neck, and Brendon makes a tiny sound in his throat as Ryan pushes himself up higher in his chair, tilting Brendon’s head further back and taking full control of the kiss.

Encouraged by the response and the fact that what they’re doing is definitely working to turn Brendon on, Brendon slides a hand under the table and puts it carefully at the top of Ryan’s thigh.

“Hey, you wanna—?” he manages, impressed with himself that he’s getting words out at all, and moves his head to get a taste of the spot of skin right beneath Ryan’s ear.

Ryan presses his hips into Brendon’s hand, and, wow, that’s—Brendon has a momentary flash of panic at the thought of letting Ryan fuck him until Ryan puts his own hand between Brendon’s legs and rubs firmly, putting Brendon’s brain very back on board with the idea of letting Ryan do whatever the hell he wants to him.

“You are so fucking hot,” Ryan murmurs, capturing Brendon’s mouth in a seriously dirty kiss. “You have no idea how much I’ve— _God._ ”

Brendon makes a whimpering sound in reply, rubbing himself up against Ryan’s hand. This is just what he needs.

“Bathroom,” Ryan mumbles, kissing Brendon again and again. “Right now, come on.”

A sense of unease comes over Brendon as Ryan pulls him to his feet, something deep inside him balking at the idea of losing his virginity in a (probably dirty) restroom at a public coffee shop. Ryan’s hand is hot in his as they stumble towards the door in the back, however, and Brendon tries to concentrate on that, pulling Ryan back in for a kiss as soon as they are through the door and scrambling for the button fly in Ryan’s jeans with shaky hands.

Ryan moans, pushing into Brendon’s hands eagerly, and Brendon thinks that, yes, this is good, this is what he wants. He moves his hands faster, getting Ryan’s jeans open and trying to push them down, get them off.

He’s so caught up with what he’s doing that he doesn’t notice Ryan stiffening until Ryan is pulling away, peeling Brendon’s hands off him and moving back until he’s pressed against the opposite wall of the room.

“Sorry,” he says, voice all raspy and affected. “Fuck, Bren, I’m really sorry. I can’t do this.”

Brendon blinks, unable to make sense of the words. “What? _Why?_ ”

“I just can’t,” Ryan says, not meeting Brendon’s eyes as he hurries to do his jeans back up. “I’m really sorry. Jesus _fuck_.”

He’s out and gone before Brendon has the time to think of anything to say in reply. The sound of the door slamming hits him like a bucket of cold water, disbelief and humiliation surging up inside and making him want to curl into a ball and hide his face in his hands. He stays slumped against the wall for a couple of minutes and then dashes after Ryan instead, suddenly desperate to talk to him, ask him to forget the whole thing and not tell anyone, _ever_. As luck would have it, he just misses the bus the three of them took to get to the coffee shop and ends up running the five stops back to the hotel next to the TV studio.

He reaches Ryan’s floor and stops in his tracks as he hears Spencer’s voice.

“Okay, fuck, I’m up. God, couldn’t you have used your key card?”

“Lost it,” he hears Ryan say. “Left my bag at—Fuck, Spence, I just—”

Brendon moves closer, something intangible holding him back and keeping him from just walking up to them and pulling Ryan away. He stops right before he hallway turns, where he, if he stays close to the wall, can watch the two of them (hopefully) without getting noticed.

Spencer looks tired, leaning against the open door to his room. He reaches out a hand, takes one of Ryan’s. “What happened?”

“I made out with Brendon,” Ryan says, and Brendon sees him pull his hand away and run it nervously thorough his hair. “He was flirting with me when we were having coffee, and I—God, I came _this_ close to bending him over and fucking him in the bathroom.”

Spencer’s face closes up and Brendon can see his shoulders stiffen. Spencer crosses his arms over his chest. “So why didn’t you?”

There’s silence for a minute while the two of them just look at each other. Brendon presses himself closer against the wall, practically able to feel the tension in the air and wondering what the fuck is going on.

“You would have hated me,” he hears Ryan say quietly at last, and then Ryan’s leaning in, kissing Spencer, soft and sweet. Brendon stares in shock as Spencer, instead of pulling away, leans closer and returns the kiss, walking Ryan backwards until they’re pressed up against the wall.

“You’re fucking impossible,” Spencer says, laughing quietly against Ryan’s mouth before kissing him again and reaching down to pull Ryan’s shirt up and over his head. “Get in bed.”

“Do we have—” Ryan says, breaking off to work his mouth eagerly down the side of Spencer’s neck. “I bought a new pack, but it was in my bag. Did you—?”

“Got some before the show,” Spencer replies, working swiftly on Ryan’s pants now. “We’re good, come on.”

Ryan follows him back into the room, and Brendon hears the door slam, quickly followed by a loud thump like someone’s being roughly pushed up against it, and a muted, drawn-out moan he realises must be Ryan’s.

He stays frozen for a long time, thinking back of little touches and looks, feeling sick to his stomach as he puts more pieces together—times when Spencer and Ryan disappeared together, or appeared together, or told someone they were going to take things easy that night, just hanging out...

So. Spencer’s not as straight as Brendon thought. Which doesn’t change the fact that he’s still fucking _engaged_ —something he obviously doesn’t care much about since he didn’t exactly look guilty about cheating on his fiancee when he pushed his tongue into Ryan’s mouth just now.

Brendon turns away, walking back to his own room as quick as he can. His entire body feels numb, and on top of it all, he feels even more humiliated. He remembers talking to Spencer at lunch, sharing jokes and making predictions about tonight’s show; thinks of Spencer helping him out with his routines, calming him down and knowing exactly what to say. Then thinks of the way Spencer used to sit in the cafeteria with his arm around Maja before she left, whispering jokes in her ear and sharing bites of his food.

Brendon remembers looking at them and wishing he’d get to love someone like that one day. How he thought—

It doesn’t matter what he thought, he tells himself firmly. He was wrong. Spencer’s nothing more than a fucking liar.


	7. Top 5

Spencer’s first dance of the week is contemporary with Brendon, and they meet up with Travis Wall, who gives them a surprisingly generic piece. It’s about two children playing in a sandbox—something nostalgic, no doubt—and while the simplicity and purity of movement Travis wants is difficult for Spencer to adapt to, the story is easy enough to perform and gives Brendon and him lots of space to work with.

When Brendon’s not “accidentally” hitting Spencer with the plastic shovels and buckets they’ve been given as props, that is.

“I’m seriously about to snap,” Spencer tells Ryan the night after the first day of rehearsals. Brendon insisted they practice until 11 PM. Spencer’s going to have bruises everywhere tomorrow. “One moment, he’s all smiles for the cameras, the next he acts like he fucking hates me.”

Ryan chuckles darkly into Spencer’s hair. “Join the club.”

“You made out with him in a bathroom and then left him there,” Spencer says. “I’d say hating you is a pretty normal reaction. But _I_ didn’t do anything.” He moves his arms over his head, stretching them out, wincing when Ryan runs his hand over a particularly sore spot at the top of his leg. “Careful.”

“Sorry,” Ryan says, leaning down to trace the forming bruise with the tip of his tongue. “Hey. Lean back.”

Spencer does, huffing as he thinks of Brendon’s half a dozen “failed” attempts to support Spencer’s weight for one of the lifts they had to do. Where the fuck does he get off, anyway? Spencer’s left arm is hurting like hell from repeatedly having to break his own fall; he’s going to have definite problems doing any other lifts for the next couple of days. Though maybe that’s what Brendon wanted—sabotaging the competition or something, now that they’re getting close to the finale and—

“You know, usually when I give someone head, they’re polite enough to at least pretend to be interested,” Ryan says from between his legs, irritation clear in his voice.

Spencer pulls himself out of his thoughts and looks down. Ryan’s mouth is slightly swollen from earlier kisses, and his lips are wet and smooth, dragging along the underside of Spencer’s dick. His face is still flushed from the hand job Spencer gave him not ten minutes ago, and the look he’s giving Spencer now is a heady mix of horny and pissed off.

Angry’s always been a really good look on Ryan.

“Sorry,” Spencer says, drawing a shuddering breath as Ryan lowers his head to lick a wet path down to his balls. “All yours, go on.”

“Liar,” Ryan replies softly, teeth grazing the sensitive skin on the inside of Spencer’s thighs before biting down hard. Spencer groans and pushes his right hand into Ryan’s hair, guiding him up to where he wants him.

Ryan narrows his eyes warningly but follows Spencer’s lead, parting his lips around the head of Spencer’s cock and rubbing his tongue teasingly over the slit. The blood rushing down from Spencer’s head to his dick feels like relief. Spencer moans, letting his head fall back, feeling Ryan smile around him before sliding down another inch.

He barely manages a warning tug on Ryan’s hair when he feels himself getting close. It doesn’t matter much since Ryan only hums around his length and hollows his cheeks, sucking even harder. His hands move up Spencer’s legs, finding each new bruise that is forming there and pushing down, making Spencer feel the pain of every one of them like jolts of electricity running up and down his spine. Ryan stops at the one at the top of Spencer’s thigh, mapping it out with his fingertips before curling his hand around Spencer’s leg and digging his nails down hard.

Spencer comes in a blinding rush, panting Ryan’s name and deciding that Brendon Urie can take his freaking mood swings and go fuck himself.

***

The second day of rehearsal, he and Brendon come into the studio to find no cameras present and their choreographer sitting curled up in a corner and looking like his heart has been broken into a million pieces and he’s just reached the point where he’s furious about it.

“Right,” Travis says, rubbing his hands over his eyes and getting to his feet. “Fuck the stuff we did yesterday. I’ve got a better idea.”

***

“Put your arm around his waist,” Travis says. Brendon looks at Spencer, who gives him a noncommittal shrug in return, so Brendon does as told, making sure to keep half an inch’s distance between their bodies.

He hates himself for the way his body reacts, how he still wants to just move in close and feel the warmth, put his head on Spencer’s shoulder.

“Good,” Travis says. “Now, lean into him. Whenever you touch, he’s your centre of gravity. If he moves away, you fall, okay?”

Brendon nods, pasting what he hopes is a professional smile on his face. Considering how many times he let Spencer fall on his ass the day before, he’s not sure he likes the sound of that.

“Now, _you_ will get the fun part,” Travis tells Spencer bitterly. “He—” Travis puts a hand on Brendon’s shoulder, “—is going to use every trick he knows to keep you from leaving him. And you—” He leans into Spencer’s side so that they’re both facing Brendon, “—are going to grind him into the floor.”

He gives Spencer a clap on the back and moves away. Brendon looks after him in shock. From the way Spencer is standing frozen at his side, he imagines the feeling is mutual.

Spencer recovers first. “Um, I’m sorry, could you explain—”

“Everyone on this show always complains that they never get to do anything real,” Travis cuts him off. “Well, this is as real as it fucking gets! Put your arm back around him.”

***

Out of everything he’s danced before in his life, nothing has fit Brendon’s mood the way the new piece does. He feels the shock when Spencer mimics stabbing him in the back every time, and when he throws himself into the air, twisting his body into a double turn before crashing against Spencer’s chest, he feels like he’s flying. The anger and grief is pure like nothing else, simple the way forgetting yourself in music is, and Brendon gives himself over to the piece over and over, letting it drain him completely.

The dance is supposedly about two friends having a falling out—storyline suitably dumbed down as usual—and Brendon tries to remember that when Spencer’s hand caresses his neck and his face looks like all he wants to do is pull Brendon close and crash their lips together. Travis keeps pushing them closer, like he’s daring everyone to see what’s right in front of them, and Brendon both hates it and loves it, torn between wanting to tell Spencer to his face that he knows exactly what kind of a lying asshole he is and some stupid, emotionally crippling impulse that can’t stop hoping he got it all wrong.

He didn’t. Brendon’s paying better attention now, noticing, among other things, how Ryan had a fresh bruise on the inside of his thigh when they were warming up that morning that looked suspiciously like it had been left by someone’s mouth.

He refuses to think about it, throwing himself into the dance instead and focusing on the way his muscles respond, how centred his turns are and how smoothly he manages to land his jumps.

He’s got a competition to win, after all.

***

Brendon doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry when his second dance that week turns out to be hip-hop with Ryan. Shane Sparks is choreographing, though, which means the piece is intricate and hard-hitting with next to no partner work. Which is good, since Brendon wouldn’t want to touch Ryan with a ten-foot pole right now anyway.

“You need to go after it more,” Shane is telling Ryan, who looks exhausted after three hours of solid practice. “Brendon’s out-dancing you. Come on, man.”

Brendon looks at Ryan over his shoulder and smirks. Ryan shoots him a glare and pushes himself off the floor. Brendon can see his left calf trembling, probably either cramping or well on its way there.

Ryan goes back into the routine and doesn’t mention it.

***

Performing live on stage is always ten times more intense than dancing in rehearsals. Normally, Brendon relishes the way the spotlights warm his face and stop him from seeing the audience as anything more than a dark mass, letting him feel their energy humming in his blood. Now, he almost wishes they weren’t there—that everyone weren’t watching him quite so closely.

He’s standing in the middle of the stage with Spencer’s arm around him, waiting for the music to start and cut him open the way it does every time. 

It starts quietly. Spencer takes a couple of steps forward, and Brendon follows; Spencer steps to the side, and Brendon falls. It happens easily, naturally. Like gravity really has shifted and transferred itself to Spencer’s body somehow.

Brendon rolls on the floor and gets to his feet. Waits and closes his eyes as the music swells.

Spencer’s fist hits home, right at the centre of his back, and Brendon doesn’t have to fake the pain on his face or the tremor that goes through his whole body, back arching as he falls. He grabs the material of the tank top he’s wearing, pulling it down and away from his neck as he struggles to breathe.

Spencer pulls away and throws him to the floor. Brendon can feel himself start to crack, hands trembling as he puts weight on them. He bites his lip hard, keeping his head down, trying to find the anger he needs to get through the next part.

Somehow, he makes it through the jumps and lifts, blinking furiously as they get in synch for a slow preparation and resisting the urge to wipe away the wetness he can feel on his cheeks.

The rest of the routine passes in a blur of emotion. Brendon thinks he does okay, but he can’t be sure; once he stands in front of the judges and tries to think back on the steps, he can’t remember any of them. He must be looking pretty bad, because Cat is hugging him and telling him he’s wonderful and seemingly not caring at all that Brendon must be totally messing up her glittery minidress.

He looks at the judges and his heart breaks a bit more; Mia Michaels is crying as well, and part of Brendon wants to run up to the judges’ table and make her hug him, _fix_ him somehow. He turns and looks at Travis, who’s sitting in the audience next to a dark-haired guy Brendon recognises from season one.

Travis looks like Brendon feels: emotionally exhausted and on the verge of collapse. The guy next to him is smiling, practically shining with pride.

Brendon really wishes he had someone who’d look at him like that. He swallows hard and manages a smile, trying to put himself together and babbling something random about Travis being a genius whenever Cat puts the mike in front of his face.

“That was _insane,_ ” Spencer says as soon as they’re off stage, looking excited and a bit shaken. “Did you hear what they said? We fucking _rocked_ out there!”

“Yeah,” Brendon says, pulling away quickly when Spencer starts going for a hug. “Whatever.”

“Wait,” Spencer says, grabbing hold of Brendon’s arm. He’s smiling, wide and happy.

God, Brendon hates that fucking smile.

“I have to get ready for hip-hop,” he says, pulling his arm free and escaping down the hall.

***

“That was amazing!” Nigel shouts, getting to his feet and gesturing dramatically in Brendon’s general direction when he and Ryan line up in front of the judges after their hip-hop routine is over. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you this week, Brendon, but for God’s sake, _keep doing it!_ ”

Brendon smiles as he pushes his hair out of his sweaty face, high on adrenaline. He feels mostly in control again, like he’s managed to kick and push everything that’s hurting down for now. To make it even better, all three judges in front of him are looking exceedingly happy.

“And what a fantastic choreography by Shane Sparks,” Nigel continues, sitting back down and going into his habitual minute-long spiel of pimping his own show. Brendon agrees though. Shane’s choreography was awesome to perform and probably just about saved him from an emotional breakdown. He claps along with the judges.

“Now, Ryan,” Nigel says, putting on a serious face. “You did very well. You’re certainly one of the most talented dancers on this show, but this week... I feel as though you’re fading.”

Brendon feels Ryan stiffen next to him, indignation almost radiating from his skin as he fights to keep his face under control and look appropriately worried and chastised. Brendon hides a smile.

“I have to agree,” Mia Michaels says, nodding. “Ryan, you know I love you. You’re an amazing dancer. But you weren’t hitting this hard enough. It looked a bit amateurish to me. I’m sorry. Brendon,” she says, breaking into a huge smile, “Insane. I am so in love with you right now, it’s ridiculous.”

Brendon decides he can let himself gloat for a minute and wraps Ryan in a tight hug, jumping up and down a couple of times, whooping. The cameras are right up in their faces, and they both know it, so Ryan can’t say or do anything about it.

Brendon imagines Ryan probably wants to kill him a little right now.

Ryan keeps his emotions in check until they’re off the stage, at which point he pushes Brendon away from him hard enough to make him stumble.

“Do you have to be this much of an asshole?” he demands, and Brendon feels a familiar wave of anger surge up inside him.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” he throws back. “Everyone else around here is.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Brendon says sarcastically. “Should I have called you a cheating bastard instead?”

He expects Ryan to deny it, or throw an insult back, or defend himself somehow. But he doesn’t expect a genuinely confused expression to replace the anger on his face. 

“What?”

“Spencer,” Brendon says flatly. “I saw you. Right after you made out with me. You guys are fucking sick.”

Ryan stares at him in shock. Then the corners of his mouth begin to twitch and he bites down hard on his bottom lip. If the situation wasn’t what it is, Brendon would swear Ryan was trying to keep himself from laughing.

“Spencer’s engaged,” Brendon clarifies, crossing his arms across his chest. “To one of your friends. Do you even know how shitty the two of you are being?”

Ryan bites his lip even harder, turning away and leaning briefly against the wall. His shoulders are shaking.

“Oh, this is too good,” Ryan manages once he turns back. Brendon fails to see what the funny part’s supposed to be.

“You should go talk to Spencer,” Ryan says, clearing his throat and getting his face back under control.

“Yeah right.”

“No, seriously, do,” Ryan says. “I think you’d be... surprised.”

He walks away before Brendon has a chance to say anything else, leaving Brendon to stare after him, still angry, not to mention confused as hell and vaguely uncomfortable.

What the hell was that all about?

***

“Ryan said you needed to talk to me,” Spencer says, trying not to sound too impatient, despite the fact that he should have been in bed hours ago and that Ryan pretty much forced him to go search the entire hotel and all the rehearsal rooms for Brendon instead.

Brendon looks up, surprised, and Spencer sees a flash of anger on his face. “I don’t.”

“Okay,” Spencer says, annoyed. “So why would he tell me you did?”

“Beats me,” Brendon says. “Why don’t you ask him? Since you guys are so close and all.”

The words have a bitter sting to them that makes Spencer do a double-take. He’s seen Brendon angry before, yes, but he’s never sounded like this. “You okay?”

“Sure,” Brendon says, giving Spencer an obviously fake smile. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Okay,” Spencer says angrily, feeling something inside of him snap. “I was just trying to be nice. What the fuck?”

“Really,” Brendon says. “You want me to say it? You really want that?”

“Say _what?_ ”

“You’re cheating on Maja!” Brendon nearly shouts. “The two of you are getting _married_ and you’re fucking your best friend behind her back! Why the fuck _should_ I want to talk to you?”

Spencer feels the words hit him like a bucket of icy water. He tries to say something and finds he can’t, too many things clogging his head all of a sudden.

“It’s. I’m not—” 

“I _saw_ you,” Brendon says, almost spitting the words out. “I saw you _kiss him_. Pull him with you into your room and tearing his clothes off. You can fucking deny it all you want, but I know what I saw.”

Brendon heads for the door, and Spencer feels something close to panic well up inside him. He lunges for Brendon without thinking, something in him suddenly desperate to stop him from walking out the door.

“We’re not engaged,” Spencer blurts. “It’s just a—”

“A what?” Brendon challenges, pulling himself away from Spencer and crossing his arms defensively. He looks like he’s half a second away from bolting.

Spencer meets his eyes, feeling his heart beat far too fast now, almost nauseous with the way his head is spinning. He doesn’t know why he cares if Brendon thinks he’s a cheater, but for some reason he obviously does—can’t stand it even. He takes a deep breath and makes a decision.

“It’s all fake,” he says, swallowing hard. “We’re not engaged. Never were.”

Brendon’s eyes widen. “ _What?_ ”

“We thought it would give us a better chance of both making the show,” Spencer says. “Maja knows I’m gay. She’s known since we were seventeen. I’m not cheating on her.”

“So—what? You just made it up?” Brendon asks, incredulous. “How could you _do_ that?”

“It’s not like it’s that big of a deal,” Spencer says, bristling a little. “No one’s telling the truth when the cameras are around. I mean, look at Gabe. He had the whole ‘I’m a self-taught dancer’-schtick going, and he’d been taking classes since he was five. Everyone knew it but people still pretended the story was true because the producers claimed it made for a better show.”

“You’re lying,” Brendon says. His voice is trembling and he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

“You know I’m not.” 

Brendon’s face falls. “I didn’t, actually.”

He looks up at Spencer, something broken shining from his eyes. Spencer suddenly feels like the world’s biggest jerk.

“Brendon.”

He reaches out on instinct, touching Brendon’s arm. Brendon draws a shuddering breath but doesn’t pull away.

“What else is a lie around here?”

“Most things,” Spencer says carefully, trying to pick things he’s hopes Brendon already knows. “Ryan never ran away from home. Pete and Ashlee weren’t high school sweethearts. I think Z actually did back-pack around Europe for a year, but I’m pretty sure she had a couple of her dad’s credit cards with her, so.”

“Oh.”

Great. Now Spencer feels even worse.

“So you and Ryan,” Brendon says. “That’s not just a thing on the side, then, is it?”

“No, it really is,” Spencer insists, feeling suddenly that it’s incredibly important that Brendon gets this right. “We’re just friends. For real.”

“Like, what? Fuck-buddies?” Brendon asks, as though the entire concept confuses him.

“I guess,” Spencer says. “He’s just... always been around. And we’re best friends. Kind of made sense.”

Brendon nods, turning his face away. He looks small and lost, and Spencer finds himself pulling closer, desperately needing to do something to help, something to make Brendon smile again.

Brendon’s whole body trembles when Spencer pulls him into a hug, and Spencer lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, squeezing harder and hiding his face in Brendon’s hair.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, shocked at how deeply he feels it. Brendon doesn’t reply, so Spencer keeps repeating it, hands moving to Brendon’s hair automatically, stroking it like he does Ryan’s whenever Ryan is upset.

He tilts Brendon’s face up, stroking the lines of his eyebrows with his thumbs. Brendon’s eyes are closed as he leans into the touch, lips parted as he takes in shallow breaths of air. Spencer moves his thumbs down to Brendon’s cheeks, then strokes along his jaw using the back of his fingers. He touches Brendon’s lower lip and Brendon makes a tiny sound in his throat, almost a whimper. Spencer does it again, suddenly fascinated by the way Brendon’s lip feels under the pad of his finger. He leans in closer, pressing their foreheads together and does it a third time.

Brendon kisses him. 

It’s just a brush of lips, so light they’re barely touching at all, but Spencer feels it like a current of electricity going right through him. Brendon’s lips are soft and warm, a little dry, and fit against his own so perfectly that Spencer can’t quite believe they’re real. He recovers from the shock and kisses Brendon back, nipping at his lips before adding a little more pressure. Brendon gasps when Spencer opens his mouth, inviting him inside, and Spencer feels his head spin from the first hesitant touch of Brendon’s tongue against his own.

_Holy shit._

Spencer can practically feel himself lose control, kissing Brendon desperately, needing everything he can get, right now and as deep and fast as possible. Brendon moans into his mouth, giving back as good as he’s getting and making Spencer feel like he’s going to melt into the floor. His back connects with one of the mirrors, and Spencer welcomes the sting when he throws his head back without thinking and the entire wall shakes. Brendon kisses a hot path down the side of his neck pressing himself closer to Spencer’s body.

They keep kissing for a long time, learning each other and letting everything out. When the kisses finally slow and Spencer opens his eyes, he feels completely raw—exposed to Brendon and to himself. He can’t believe he didn’t connect the dots before; watching Brendon’s face now, the feelings welling up inside him feel like they’ve been there forever.

Brendon doesn’t say anything as he takes a small step back, but he meets Spencer’s eyes, and whatever he sees there makes a smile spread slowly all across his face.

Spencer’s breath hitches in his throat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Brendon says, making it sound so much like a promise that Spencer can’t help smiling back. 

He watches Brendon leave the room and takes a deep, steadying breath before heading back towards his own floor.

Ryan’s still awake when he gets back, taking one look at Spencer’s face and breaking into an annoyingly smug grin.

“Sooo,” Ryan says, drawing out the word until it sounds positively obscene. “You guys have a good talk?”

“You knew, didn’t you?” Spencer says, unable to really hate Ryan for being obnoxious when his heart is still beating far too fast.

“Of course I did,” Ryan replies, ignoring Spencer’s attempts to push him away, worming himself closer until he has Spencer wrapped in a spindly hug. “I can’t believe it took you so long.”

“Screw you,” Spencer says, hugging Ryan back and then wrestling him to the floor, tickling him until neither of them can breathe and Ryan surrenders and begs for mercy.


	8. And the Winner Is...

“The person leaving tonight is... Ryan.”

Brendon gasps as Cat says it and doesn’t even try to hide how shocked he is. From the looks of it, so is Ryan, even though he does his best to pretend otherwise for the cameras, hugging Z tightly to keep them from getting a good shot of his face.

“Congratulations, Z, that means you have the last spot in the finale,” Cat adds, sending her off to join the three of them that are left at the side of the stage. 

Brendon keeps looking at Ryan, still unable to believe that he’s the one going home. Ryan’s contemporary technique is flawless, and he’s shown more versatility than most of them (more than Brendon, that’s for sure; for one thing, Ryan can actually do ballroom). Brendon was sure he’d have one of the final spots.

He almost jumps when he feels a warm hand on his back, just resting there subtly, forging a connection. Brendon keeps himself from turning his head and looking at Spencer, knows that whatever they’re building will have to stay off-camera for now. It’s frustrating but bittersweet; Brendon finds he likes the slow burn of being next to him without saying anything, just feeling him nearby and knowing he’s there.

They haven’t talked about last night, but the way things are progressing, Brendon feels like they might not need to. He came down to breakfast this morning almost sick with nervousness and found Spencer looking equally pale, holding a cup of coffee and a mug of Brendon’s favourite forest fruit tea.

They had breakfast together, sitting close and talking about nothing in particular. Brendon almost floated away to morning practice.

On stage, Cat is wrapping up the show. Ryan is standing next to her with a gigantic bouquet in his arms, smiling and waving to the audience. Brendon stalls a bit when they all run up to hug him, letting Spencer get to Ryan first and pushing down the pang of uncertainty and jealousy he feels when Spencer holds Ryan close and whispers something in his ear that makes Ryan’s smile turn genuine for a second. 

Z is next, jumping on Ryan and placing a big kiss on his cheek. Tennessee joins her, attacking from the opposite side, and Ryan suddenly finds himself with two armfuls of pretty dancers who are—from what it looks like from where Brendon’s standing—trying to catch his earlobes between their teeth.

Ryan looks disgustingly happy with the arrangement. Brendon sees Spencer roll his eyes from the outside of their little circle.

He joins the group, giving Ryan a big hug. Ryan reluctantly lets go of Z and Tenn and hugs him back, pulling Brendon close so he can talk in his ear without the mikes picking up on what he’s saying.

“You totally stole my spot,” Ryan whispers, but he sounds amused rather than angry, so Brendon risks a laugh.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan replies. “Don’t hurt Spence, or I’ll have to kill you.”

Brendon blushes, looking over Ryan’s shoulder. Spencer meets his eyes, and the look he sends him makes Brendon desperate for the show to be over already so he can get Spencer alone and... do things. Hopefully involving lots of kissing.

He has to wait. Z decides that they’re all going out for drinks to give Ryan a proper farewell and that the fact that neither Brendon nor Tennessee have an ID that will actually let them do that isn’t important. 

They end up at a bar in West Hollywood, somewhere Z knows both the bouncer and the bartender, and crowd into a small booth as Z gets them a tray full of drinks from the bar. The glasses are tiny, and everyone else is taking one, so Brendon does too, throwing the shot back with the rest of them.

The alcohol burns all the way down his throat and he feels like he can’t breathe for a minute. He coughs. Ryan and Z laugh at him and Tennessee reaches across the table, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

“Water?”

A glass materialises in front of him, and Brendon takes it gratefully, drinking it down in deep, soothing gulps. He looks up at Spencer, who smiles and shrugs, then pushes gently at Brendon’s shoulder to tell him to scoot further into the booth.

Brendon is happy to oblige.

More tiny glasses come and go, and soon Brendon is feeling extremely lightheaded. He moves his head from side to side, giggling at the way it makes his head spin. From the other side of the table, Ryan is laughing again. Not at Brendon, this time, though (Brendon’s pretty sure). In fact, Ryan seems to be almost unaware that Brendon and Spencer even exist, the way he’s got Z and Tenn almost in his lap, the three of them whispering things back and forth like a secret game.

“You wanna go back?” Spencer says, pulling Brendon’s attention away from the others.

Brendon turns his head. Spencer’s eyes are dark in the muted lighting of the room—dark and a little glassy and looking at Brendon in a way that makes a shiver run up Brendon’s spine.

Getting out of the bar seems like an excellent idea.

***

Spencer doesn’t think he’s drunk. He only had a couple of shots so he shouldn’t be, but considering the way he feels when Brendon puts an arm around his waist and leans against him for extra balance, he’s honestly not too sure.

They make it back to the hotel and into the elevator. Brendon’s eyes are half-way closed, and he looks so fucking gorgeous Spencer doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Can I kiss you?” Brendon asks, a little slurred and a lot breathless, and Spencer feels his mouth go dry.

He doesn’t mean to nod, but either he does or Brendon doesn’t care, because the next thing he knows, he’s leaning back against the elevator wall and Brendon’s kissing him, deep and wet right from the get-go, making little sounds in his throat that are driving Spencer crazy.

The elevator pings and Brendon pulls him out of it, dragging Spencer along the carpeted hallway until they’re standing outside Brendon’s room. Brendon gets a key card out of his pocket and then they’re inside, kissing desperately as they stumble through the room and fall down together on one of the beds.

“Can I—” Brendon pants, and Spencer is vaguely aware in some part of his brain that Brendon’s drunk and Spencer probably should try to slow things down a little.

Next thing he knows, Brendon somehow has Spencer’s pants off and is leaning down between his legs, parting his lips around the tip of Spencer’s cock, and Spencer’s brain kind of melts away completely.

Brendon sucks enthusiastically, alternating between taking Spencer into his mouth and just playing with him with his lips and tongue, little touches and licks that are driving Spencer utterly insane. Everything is hot and wet, and Spencer grabs a fistful of blanket with both hands, clenching his jaw to keep himself from shouting when Brendon’s tongue finds a particularly sensitive spot right beneath the head. Brendon’s hands find the top of his thighs, squeezing and stroking, and Spencer can’t help himself from bucking into the touch, desperate to get Brendon’s hands where he needs them.

Brendon chokes a little and pulls off, coughing a couple of times while Spencer babbles apologies and his hips keep pushing into Brendon’s hands of their own accord. The uncertain look on Brendon’s face disappears, and instead, a positively wicked smile takes its place.

He ducks down again, licking a stripe up the length of Spencer’s cock and running his tongue in a lazy circle around the crown. Spencer shudders.

“You have to tell me if I’m doing it wrong,” Brendon mumbles, pausing to take the tip of Spencer’s dick into his mouth and sucking gently. “Promise?”

“Sure, yeah, absolutely,” Spencer replies, panting harshly as Brendon tightens his lips and sucks a bit harder. His brain feels like mush at this point, and he doesn’t really know what Brendon is asking. No matter what it is, though, Spencer’s pretty sure he’s answer would be yes, so he’s not overly concerned.

Brendon moves two spit-slick fingers down to his balls and then further back, circling Spencer’s hole before pushing in carefully.

Spencer’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Is this okay?” Brendon is asking. “I can’t really feel—it’s much harder from this angle, I usually—”

Spencer misses the rest, lost in flashing images of Brendon lying on his back in bed, two fingers buried deep in his ass while his other hand pulls at his cock. He groans helplessly, trying to hold himself together and think of the least sexy things he knows to stop himself from shooting off into Brendon’s hand right the fuck now.

It’s a losing battle, especially once Brendon twists his fingers again, finds Spencer’s prostate and starts tapping it gently in a syncopated rhythm Spencer never imagined trying. He comes with a moan, pushing up into Brendon’s hand and feeling hot wetness hit his stomach, shaking through the pleasure as Brendon keeps stroking him, keeps fucking him with his fingers until Spencer is a panting, writhing wreck at the centre of the bed.

Brendon pulls away and wipes his fingers on the blanket, crawling up the bed until they’re face to face and placing a soft, unsure kiss on Spencer’s mouth.

“Was that okay?”

Spencer nearly laughs. He manages to lift a boneless arm and put his hand at Brendon’s neck, pulling him back down and kissing him thoroughly.

“You’re absolutely amazing.”

Brendon blushes and leans in again, kissing Spencer with more heat now, shifting his body so they can curl closer together.

Spencer reaches between their bodies, finds Brendon’s dick and starts working it in a slow rhythm. Brendon presses himself even closer and moves his hips, fucking into Spencer’s fist to try and make him go faster. Spencer does, swallowing down the lovely sounds Brendon makes as he draws it out, alternating between hard and careful until Brendon’s hiding his face in Spencer’s neck, holding on to him so hard his fingers will probably leave marks and begging Spencer to finish it.

Eventually, once Brendon starts coming back down, Spencer moves away a little, unsure how to handle the way his heart feels like it’s expanding to twice its normal size when Brendon opens his eyes and looks at him with pupils so blown his eyes seem black. He leans down and kisses him instead of thinking about it, moving his hand to Brendon’s waist, pulling him close and trying to get the blanket up to cover both of them.

Brendon keeps kissing him, hands running over whatever part of Spencer’s body he can reach. The sheets they’re lying on are turning into a mess, not to mention that both of them still have most of their clothes on. 

Spencer closes his eyes, kisses Brendon back and decides he doesn’t give a fuck.

***

The last week of the competition is the most intense they’ve had. Not only do they have an insane amount of choreography to learn, but all former contestants are coming back to help perform highlights of the season, so Spencer finds himself in one rehearsal after the other, hardly even having the time to breathe in between.

He and Brendon are sharing a room now, getting bumped up to a fancier floor along with Z and Tennessee as a reward for making the finale. It’s not a suite, by any means, but it’s a good deal bigger than the room he shared with Ryan for the past couple of months, with thick, soft carpet on the floor and high up in the hotel so that they can see the downtown LA skyline.

Spencer really wishes they had the energy to enjoy it more than they do. So far, they’ve both been up at 6:00 every morning and crashed into bed—too exhausted to manage more than some half-hearted cuddling—around midnight. Spencer has to admit, though, that the few hours of sleep he does get are better than he remembers sleep ever being.

Brendon shuffles around a little when he sleeps, making the most adorable sounds. He gets really warm at night, and Spencer, whose only real frame of reference is Ryan the Human Icicle, loves the way Brendon will roll over in his sleep and end up half-way on top of him, not minding in the least when Spencer puts his feet against Brendon’s calf to warm them up.

Two days before the final show, he gets back to their room around eleven and finds Brendon sleeping on top of one of the beds. He’s wearing a bath robe and has a pile of towels stacked next to him, looking like he was sitting on the edge and just decided to rest his head for a little while. Spencer can’t help but smile.

He kicks off his shoes and lies down as well, spooning up against Brendon’s back and pressing his face into his hair. Brendon stirs and turns over, blinking sleepily at Spencer and leaning in for a kiss.

“I have a surprise for you,” Brendon murmurs against Spencer’s lips, using his teeth to pull a low moan from Spencer’s throat. “Go put on your swimsuit.”

“My what?” Spencer says, trying to get his brain to move some of its focus away from how easily he could just reach down and untie the knot that keeps Brendon’s bathrobe together. “Bren, the pool closes at nine.”

“It does,” Brendon says, smiling impishly. “But I managed to get hold of one of these.”

He reaches into the pocket of his robe and pulls out a key card. Spencer frowns.

“For?”

“There’s a private spa on the top floor,” Brendon says. “I convinced Adam to let us borrow his key.”

“Adam who? Adam Shankman? _Judge_ Adam Shankman?”

“The one and only,” Brendon says. “We were talking after my rehearsal with Vicky-T. He was very sympathetic.”

Spencer suddenly feels cold. He pushes away from Brendon, gets to his feet. “You told him about us?”

“What, no,” Brendon says, starting to laugh until he sees the expression on Spencer’s face. “I told him I wished there was somewhere we could escape to and relax for a while, all four of us,” he says, sounding worried. “And he gave me this. I was gonna ask Tenn and Z too, but then I caught them making out with Ryan in the hallway, so. That’s _all_. I promise.”

Spencer feels the sudden fear recede, something almost like shame welling up and taking its place when he meets Brendon’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says. “Fuck, I’m—”

“It’s fine,” Brendon replies quickly, ducking his head and gathering the towels. “You still wanna go to the spa?”

Spencer nods, thankful for the break, and goes to find his swimsuit.

*** 

“This is heaven,” Brendon sighs, sinking down into the hot water of a jacuzzi and tipping his head back. “I’m totally going to live in here from now on.”

“You’d get really wrinkly,” Spencer replies, stepping carefully into the water. “A human prune.”

“It would be worth it,” Brendon says, stretching out his legs. The water is swirling around him, massaging his back. He can practically feel his abused muscles thanking him. “God, I really, really needed this after today.”

“Gimme your feet,” Spencer says. Brendon gives him a sceptical eyebrow but does as he says, barely containing a moan when Spencer grabs his right one and starts working the tips of his fingers into the pressure points on the sole. Spencer works his way methodically over the foot, kneading and pressing the pain away. Brendon kind of wants to marry him.

“I can’t believe it’s almost over,” he says, groaning in appreciation as Spencer starts working on his other foot. “Can you imagine if one of us actually wins this thing? It’s a _quarter of a million dollars_. I have no idea what to do with that kind of money.”

“I’d like to open up a studio,” Spencer says after clearly thinking about it for a while. “I mean, not right now, but someday.”

Brendon smiles to himself. Spencer would have a kick-ass studio. 

“With Maja?”

“Maybe,” Spencer says. “Probably not, though. She wants to go into film.”

Brendon nods. Now that he knows the real story with Maja and Spencer, he’s got a lot of reevaluating to do.

“So, are you planning on staying in LA?” he says, making sure the question comes out light. Just because he knows what he wants doesn’t mean Spencer wants the same thing. At the same time, he’s notoriously bad at not getting his hopes up.

“I—um,” Spencer says. “I thought I would. But, I like New York too.”

Brendon’s chest grows tighter, making it hard to breathe. He keeps the smile that wants to spread all over his face in check, however. 

“You’ve got Ryan there,” he says carefully.

“Yeah,” Spencer says, keeping his eyes firmly on Brendon’s foot. “And, um. You.”

He looks up at that, meeting Brendon’s eyes. He looks scared, Brendon thinks, among other things. There’s something about Spencer’s expression that makes Brendon suddenly desperate to kiss him.

Water splashes over the edge of the jacuzzi as he launches himself at Spencer, knocking their noses together in the hurry to reach his lips. He pulls Spencer with him under the surface of the water, laughing as they break apart and Spencer splutters and gasps for air before leaning in and kissing him back.

“Come to New York with me,” he hears himself say, the part of his brain that’s connected to his mouth clearly not giving a shit about Brendon’s resolve to be calm and cool about this. “We can get a place. Tell people we’re roommates or something.”

Spencer breaks away from him, and Brendon has a moment of panic, which grows stronger when Spencer pulls away from him completely and opens his mouth like he’s going to say something before closing it again.

“I—”

“It’s fine,” Brendon hurries to say, reaching out to pull Spencer back. “Forget I said anything. We can just—”

“No,” Spencer says, then clears his throat and tries again. “No, I want to.”

“You do?” Brendon asks, shocked. He never—but what if Spencer’d actually— He looks at Spencer, aware that he’s blushing and that the smile he’s been trying to hold back is taking over most of his face.

“Yeah,” Spencer says, giving him a small smile back. “But—”

Brendon’s heart sinks.

“I don’t want to be roommates,” Spencer says, barely loud enough for Brendon to hear. “I want—I _don’t_ want to keep lying to everyone.”

Brendon leans in and kisses him. Hard. Making sure he puts everything he’s feeling right then into the kiss.

“It’s always been—I’ve always—” Spencer mumbles between kisses, pressing Brendon back until they’re up against the side of the pool. “I don’t know how to do this, but—”

“Me neither,” Brendon manages, cutting Spencer off with another deep kiss. “I don’t care.”

Spencer makes a desperate sound against his mouth and moves his arms around Brendon’s back, pulling their bodies closer together.

***

Spencer ends up in fourth place. After the initial wave of disappointment as Cat announces it, Spencer finds he’s able to go through with the whole ‘let’s take a look at your amazing journey’-routine with a more or less genuine smile on his face.

They show clips from the auditions, of him and Maja fooling around with hats and ties in the waiting area, pretending to be Bonnie and Clyde, then of him in Vegas, doing a hip roll and making Mary Murphy stand up and scream. They show him dancing with Ashlee and Jeanette, then Ryan in the paso doble Spencer still can’t believe Fox actually broadcast. Finally, there are some clips of his solos and two of his dances with Brendon—both the Viennese waltz and Travis’ contemporary routine.

Spencer feels his throat going tight as he watches the close-up of his and Brendon’s faces during the waltz, the way Brendon leans his head back against Spencer’s shoulder and follows him with his eyes closed. They’re turning around the floor in smooth circles, and Spencer’s stricken by how easy it looked, even then, before anything happened. He can feel a slow blush creeping up his neck, coupled with a sense of fear that everyone who watches will suddenly _know_.

Then he looks at Brendon, who’s standing with Z and Tenn next to the stage, and somehow doing that makes the whole thing less scary. Brendon is clapping for him like mad, jumping up and down and whistling with the best of the fans in the audience.

Spencer raises his arms in the air.

***

Z gets third. 

Brendon’s heart is pounding as he makes it off the stage, unable to believe that he’s one of the top two. He’s ushered into makeup as Z gets flowers and everyone claps. Spencer is due on stage to do a repeat performance of his salsa with Jeanette, and after that, Brendon and Tennessee have their Argentine Tango.

He resists watching Spencer’s performance since he doesn’t want to go on stage with a boner, especially not considering how form-fitting his tango pants are. Tennessee joins him in the waiting area, wearing the same blue dress she wore the first time they did the routine. She looks as nervous as Brendon’s feeling, which, oddly, does a lot to calm him down. He reaches across to her and holds out his hand, offering an encouraging smile as well.

Tennessee does him one better and pulls him to his feet, wrapping her arms around his waist. He hugs her back until someone tells them they’re due on stage and keeps a firm hold of her hand until they have to separate and get into position. 

The music starts and Brendon moves into the first figure, spinning Tennessee into closed position and guiding her down into the splits. He can hear the audience scream as he reaches down, putting his hands on her knees and stroking all the way up to the top of her thighs as he pulls her up again. Tennessee catches his eye as they walk a classic _ocho_ into a turn and gives him a small smirk. They move into a combination of _ganchos_ , flicking their feet high between each other’s legs, and Brendon smiles back, happy to accept the quiet challenge.

May the best dancer win.

***

The last routine is over, and Spencer finds himself standing in front of the judges’ table with all the former contestants, watching as Tennessee and Brendon line up together at the centre of the stage while Ryan keeps up an annoying commentary in his ear.

“Brendon, you danced a Broadway group number, a hip-hop with Spencer, a lindy hop with Z and a contemporary piece with Tennessee,” Cat says, pausing as clips from the different routines play across the main screen. “You also did a solo in your own style.”

One of Brendon’s most impressive jumps replaces the clip of him and Tennessee on the screen, followed by a nice pirouette and a close-up of Brendon’s face. Spencer crosses his fingers.

“Tennessee, you also danced a Broadway group number,” Cat continues. The clip plays, and though Spencer is loathe to admit it, it has to be said that Tennessee looked pretty smoking hot in her corset and high heels.

“After that you did a contemporary piece with Brendon,” Cat says. “Followed by a cha-cha with Spencer and a Haitian routine with Z. Finally, you closed the show with a solo in your own style.”

Cat picks up the next note in her pile, opening it slowly and closing it back down. Spencer can’t even imagine what Brendon and Tennessee must be feeling up there; Spencer is about to go insane from the suspense, and he’s not even onstage.

“Brendon’ll take it,” Ryan guesses. “He’s got a voting advantage for being a guy, and his solo last night was way better than hers.”

Spencer doesn’t answer. He’s biting his lip too hard to be able to.

“The winner of this season’s So You Think You Can Dance,” Cat starts, drawing it out and milking the tension for all it’s worth, “the title ‘America’s Favourite Dancer’ and _two hundred and fifty thousand dollars_ is...” 

Brendon and Tennessee huddle together, hands firmly clasped. Spencer holds his breath.

“Tennessee Thomas!”

A dozen confetti cannons go off, filling the air with glitter as the audience goes crazy and hundreds of balloons fall from the studio ceiling. Brendon pulls Tennessee into a hug and twirls her around, both of them laughing and crying at the same time before Cat manages to separate them and send Brendon off the stage with a massive bunch of flowers and get Tennessee a mike.

Brendon stumbles and nearly falls as he runs down the stage steps, giving Spencer the perfect opportunity to catch him and press a quick kiss to his neck. Not that it matters much; at this moment, all cameras are on Tennessee, creeping in for extreme close-ups as she gives her victory speech. 

Spencer takes a quick look around and then puts his hand on Brendon’s jaw, tilting it up and kissing him properly, right in the middle of glittery chaos and people cheering at the top of their voices. He can feel the fear at the back of his head and the adrenaline that goes with it flooding his body as Brendon kisses back, as Brendon passes his bouquet to Ryan and Ryan rolls his eyes and pulls Maja to his side in an attempt to shield the two of them a little.

On stage, Tennessee’s victory montage is playing. Brendon breaks away and turns towards it, cheering at the top of his voice as Tennessee accepts her flowers.

Neither of them won.

Spencer kisses Brendon again and can’t even begin to care.

THE END


End file.
